We Won't Forget the Dragons
by 86kay
Summary: The blight is over, but that doesn't mean Thedas is safe yet. Luckily for Tristan Amell, he doesn't have to save the world on his own.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 **

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, threatening rain with menacing grumbles that echoed along the Wounded Coast. The sea was restless and wild, steely grey waves bleeding white foam as they crashed against jagged rocks. Lightning ripped across the sky, the electric flashes fighting back the encroaching darkness that followed the storm. From the bow of the _Kalipsa, _Tristan Amell stared out at the impressive display of Nature's wrath impassively. Sailors were scurrying to and fro on the wooden deck of the galleon, frantically passing comments about the treacherously dangerous rocks that hugged the coastline as they set about lowering the mainsail to stop the wind from ripping the canvas to shreds. At any moment, they feared, the writhing grey waves would toss the wooden craft too near to shore and they would run aground.

"She's not going to survive much more of this." Reynold Thameran, the _Kalipsa_'s Captain, called out as he strode towards him. The older man's dark eyes were uncharacteristically worried. Tristan had never seen him so unsettled before.  
>"She has less chance of surviving without you steering her. Who's at the helm?" He asked, casting a quick glance towards the wheelhouse.<p>

"Parish." The Captain replied shortly and Tristan nodded, a small measure of relief granted to him by the name. Sonja Parish was the Captain's first mate, and one of the most capable sailors Tristan had ever met.

"We could anchor somewhere." He offered, scowling up at the sky as rain began to pour down upon them in heavy waves. "Where's the nearest port in the Free Marches?"

Relief flooded the Captain's sea-weathered features. "Kirkwall." He answered without hesitation. "We're not far from the city."

"Kirkwall?" Tristan echoed, grimacing. "There's nowhere else?"

"We're several days away from Ostwick still." The Captain replied with a shrug. "I suppose if we could find a natural cove…"

"Don't bother." Tristan cut across him quickly. "This weather would only make that a suicide mission. I'd rather dock in Kirkwall than risk losing my ship. Give the order to your men."

Reynold nodded in satisfaction and quickly turned, issuing out commands as he returned to the helm. Tristan heaved a sigh, raking his hand back through his raven hair, sweeping the wet strands out of his cobalt eyes.

_Kirkwall… _The name caused an odd stirring within him. The memories he held of the city were brief and faded, mere flickers of his former life, but he held onto them with everything he had. Before the first signs of his magic had shown as a child, before his noble parents had sent him to the Ferelden Mage's Guild to avoid the scandal his abilities would cause for their family, he had been the contented second son of the most prestigious noble family in Kirkwall. He knew, of course, that everything now would be different. According to the annual letters he had received from his mother whilst in the guild, their family had left Kirkwall not long after sending him away to the Circle, choosing instead to live in Starkhaven. Where they were now, he could not say. The letters had stopped not long after his fifteenth birthday. Either his mother had died, or she simply no longer cared. Tristan wasn't brave enough to make the trip to Starkhaven and find out. A part of him preferred not knowing.

Another flash of lightning lit up the stormy sky, the blazing white light revealing the massive cliffs that surrounded the city like a wall. Reynold had been right, it seemed. The storm had driven them straight towards the former City of Chains.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

Tristan turned at the voice at his side, startled to find Sonja standing beside him. He had been so caught up with his thoughts that he had scarcely noticed the first mate as she approached him.

"You have any better ideas, Parish?" He asked, his voice a sigh. _Of course _she had an opinion on his decision to dock at the city. She wouldn't be the Parish they all knew and loved if she didn't argue about absolutely _everything_. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest at the tone of his voice, her steel grey eyes flashing dangerously.

"Surely you realize that in order to sail into the city, we'll have to pass through the channel."

"So?"

"Reynold is an impressive Captain, but he's no miracle worker. The entrance into Kirkwall is nothing more than a death trap in this weather."

Tristan frowned, considering her words. "We only have to get _into _the channel." He said, after a few moments thought. "Once we're between the cliffs we'll be sheltered from the storm."

"That's assuming we even make it between the cliffs." Parish snapped.

He smiled reassuringly. "The _Kalipsa _is the finest ship in Thedas. She's fast and nimble enough to outmaneuver anything."

"You put far too much faith in her, Amell." Parish grouched.

Tristan placed one hand on the ship's rail, stroking the fine polished wood. "Don't insult my ship, Sonja." He told her, deliberately using her first name to irk her. The blonde haired first mate hated being treated as anything else than just one of the boys. According to her, her name wasn't appropriate for a sailor. "We're nearing the channel." He added, leaning over the bow and squinting into the darkness. He could just make out the two enormous bronze statues that guarded the entrance to the channel through the gloom. The statues were called the 'Twins of Kirkwall', and could be used to control the sea-faring traffic through the Waking Sea by erecting an enormous chain net between the statues and the lighthouse which sat on the outcropping of rock on the opposite side of the channel.

"Are you ready for this Warden?" Reynold yelled out from his position at the helm.

"Guide her in Captain!" Tristan called back, his voice all but lost over the roar of the wind.

Parish rolled her eyes in frustration. "You two will get us killed."

Tristan couldn't help but smile as he watched her race to the starboard side of the ship, calling out instructions to the Captain as he expertly rode the wild waves of the Waking Sea. The _Kalipsa _weathered the storm masterfully, flaunting her impeccable design as she stealthily slipped between the narrow gap that formed a passage through the black stone cliffs. The crew heaved a collective sigh of relief as they sailed into the calmer waters of the channel.

_That wasn't so bad._ Tristan thought, smiling smugly. He tossed a glance towards Sonja, his smile turning into a smirk as he caught sight of her irritation. He turned away from the bow, heading across the foredeck towards the wheel house where the Captain still stood triumphantly behind the ship's helm.

"Well done." He said, clapping the man on his back. Reynold grinned.

"You didn't ever doubt me, did you Amell?"

"Not for a second." Tristan assured him, glancing up thoughtfully at the massive cliffs that surrounded his ship on either side. The last time he had sailed through this passage he had been five years old. He shook off the memory, the shiver that ran through him having nothing to do with the cold.

"Andraste's ass." He grumbled. "When is this blighted rain going to cease?"

"We'll anchor soon enough." The Captain replied, his eyes following the same path that Tristan's had as he scanned the cliffs. "We might as well take advantage of this stop. We've been running low on supplies. Perhaps a couple of days spent in the city could be useful."

Tristan nodded his head absently. "Good plan. With any luck we won't have to stop again until at least Wycome."

"Are you sure that staying here is a good plan?" As if on cue, Sonja appeared at his side to argue his decision.

"Dear Maker Parish." Reynold growled. "Do you have to question everything?"

"This city is reputedly harsh on mages." Sonja replied, giving Tristan a pointed look. "They might not welcome us so readily when they find out who owns this ship."

"I'm a Warden Commander, Parish." He replied. "They can't do anything to me." He reached one hand out, playfully ruffling her short, blonde hair. She shoved his hand away, grumbling as she pushed the wet, spiky strands out of her eyes. "You worry too much."

She glared at him. "They lock their mages in a _prison _here, Tristan."

"Okay, okay." He sighed. "Look, I have my blades… No one will even know I'm a mage. Does that make you feel better?"

The First Mate nodded her head slowly, considering his words. Tristan had spent the last couple of years honing his swordsmanship skills. He was nowhere near as proficient with a blade as he was with his magic, but he was skilled enough to defend himself should he suddenly be caught in a fight.

"Well now that your nanny is satisfied," Reynold remarked, rolling his dark eyes in exasperation.

Tristan grinned at the anger on Sonja's face as she turned upon her Captain.

"Somebody has to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid!" She replied heatedly.

"He survived an entire blight without you watching his back, Parish."

Sonja grew silent at this, her grey eyes glaring daggers into Reynold's back as he turned around to issue orders to his men. Tristan glanced around, relieved to find that the _Kalipsa _had finally reached the Kirkwall docks.

"At last." He sighed, crossing back to the bow. Parish followed just behind him. "Let's just hope this place has a decent tavern." He remarked, elbowing her in her ribs. "I could do with a drink that isn't ale."

The Orlesian sailor glanced around the docks warily, undoubtedly scanning the area for the Templars she was certain would rush to claim him the moment he stepped foot off his ship. Tristan couldn't help but grin. The girl really did worry too much. The rest of his crew didn't seem to share their First Mate's inhibitions. The rain seemed to spur them on and in record time they had secured the hawser to the bollard and lowered the gangplank to the wharf.

"Well?" Reynold asked, coming to stand beside the pair of them once more. "What are you two waiting for? Somewhere down there is a dry tavern ready with a warm bed and a pitcher of ale."

"You go on ahead." Tristan told him. "And tell your men they're free to leave the ship as they wish. I've no doubt they're eager to be back on dry land."

"What about you?" The Captain asked curiously. "Don't tell me Parish has gone and scared you with her nonsense about the Templars here."

"Of course not!" Tristan laughed, earning himself another glare from Sonja. "I'd simply rather sleep in my own bed in my cabin as opposed to the flea-ridden ones the taverns here might have to offer."

"You have a fair point there." Reynold conceded, his brow narrowing as he considered this point. "But the tavern wenches should more than make up for the fleas!" He added suddenly, a wicked grin playing at his lips.

Tristan shook his head, laughing again. "Tomorrow." He assured the Captain. He turned away from them, heading back towards the hatch which led to the lower decks. He slipped quickly down the companionway and made his way toward his cabin, eager to slip into the warmth of his bed. He hurriedly stripped himself free of his wet clothes, rolling his shoulders back to ease the knots of tension that had formed in his back. Sailing through storms had always left him feeling nerve wracked. His reached for the amulet that hung around his neck, clasping it tightly in one hand.

_Still okay, Umbra? _He asked silently, his eyes closing as he allowed his mind to wander across the sea in search of her. He felt a small buzz of electricity throb through the amulet in response to his silent call, and he smiled in relief. _Of course _she was okay. He thought, silently chastising himself for worrying so much about her. After all, it took more than a mere storm to kill a dragon.

_AN: Okay…. So as you can no doubt guess, this is gonna be a lengthy fic. Will try and update when I can though, holding thumbs that work doesn't bury me. The beginning is set in Act II, but I will be running through the events pretty quickly as I'm not a fan of rehashing game events. If some of the characters end up being a bit OOC, I apologize. I tend to try and twist the characters to fit my story, and not visa versa. One last note, I was unfortunate enough not to get a chance to play Awakenings, and so in this fic, as far as I'm concerned it never happened. I'll fill in the gaps with my own events ;) Hope you enjoy…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Just so we're clear? Anything you recognize (and probably some things you don't…) I don't own. I just thank Bioware for being so awesome. :)_

**Chapter 2**

_The faces all around me they don't smile they just crack,_

_Waiting for our ship to come but our ship's not coming back,_

_We do our time like pennies in a jar,_

_What are we saving for?_

_There's a smell of stale fear and it's reeking from our skins,_

_And the drinking never stops because the drinks absolve our sins,_

_We sit and grow our roots into the floor,_

_But what are we waiting for?_

_-The Bravery, Believe._

The Kirkwall air was always crisp and clean after a storm. The heavy smoke from the city foundries which usually hung in a cloud over Lowtown were gone, swept away by the violent rains from the night before. The reprieve would only be a brief one, lasting a few hours at best before the pollution would once more stake its claim over the city. Isabela cast a glance towards the sky as she walked, admiring the vista of pink and orange light which followed the sunrise. It had been a long time since she had been awake early enough to watch the sun rise. Usually she only woke at noon; once the worst effects of her hangover from the previous night's drinking had worn off, but a lack of coin had resulted in her consuming less alcohol than normal of late, and consequently she found herself able to rise in time with the sun's first rays. The city was still and quiet, most of the residents still comfortably asleep in their beds. The soft crunch of Isabela's boots against the gravel floor was the only sound that pierced the early morning silence. Alert as always, her gold eyes flickered periodically across the empty streets in search of bandits or blood mages who might be wandering the town in these quiet early morning hours. The path to the docks was mercifully clear though, and the former pirate captain was able to saunter through the city without incident.

_Three years._ She thought with uncharacteristic gloominess as she wandered down the wooden docks. The sight of the moored ships gently swaying against their ties in the still sea waters was enough to plunge her into a well of remorse and despair. Three years spent stranded in Kirkwall. Three years since her precious ship, _The Siren's Call_, had been destroyed whilst fleeing the Qunari. Three years spent desperately searching for the relic which would free her from this mess. She clenched her hands into fists as the frustration bubbled up within her. Three years had passed and she was still hopelessly screwed.

A passing sailor whistled, calling out a teasing comment as he walked by. Isabela barely glanced up at the man before gesturing rudely at him in response. Even after years without setting foot on the deck of a ship, she was still known and accepted by the sailors' as one of their own. This thought at least gave her some small measure of comfort.

A small gathering of men at the far end of the docks caught her attention, and she quickened her pace, her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she caught sight of the galleon moored at the end of the wharf. Long and sleek, her pristine white sails furled neatly up along her impressive masts, she looked nothing like the cumbersome fishing trawlers that usually occupied the docks. Her wooden hull had been painted jet black, the colour offsetting the rich polished red wood of her deck. The name of the craft, the _Kalipsa,_ was etched into the ebony paint in fine gold lettering. The beauty of the ship was suddenly lost upon Isabela as a thought rang through her mind.

_Has Castillon finally found me? _

The ship certainly looked worthy of the Antivan merchant, she thought, fear clawing at her insides. She closed her eyes briefly, sucking in a deep breath to steady herself.

"She's a beauty." She commented to one of the bystanders, her voice betraying none of the emotions that were whirling inside of her.

"Aye she is." The sailor replied, without shifting his eyes off of the _Kalipsa. _"Harbor master says she docked here last night, looking to escape the storm."

"Who owns her?"

"Not rightly sure." The man gave a shrug. "Whoever he is, he's certainly a rich bastard."

_That he is._ Isabela thought, unable to tear her eyes away from the magnificent ship before her. A ship that big would undoubtedly hold a large crew, she thought. All she needed was to speak to at least one of those men to determine whether or not the _Kalipsa _belonged to Castillon. With considerable effort, she dragged her eyes away from the galleon and walked back down the dock, her thoughts in a whirl. The Hanged Man should be her first stop, she told herself, or the Blooming Rose. Fresh ale and loose women was the first thing a sailor would seek after many months spent on board a ship. The Hanged Man was closer, so that would have to be her first stop. She could ask Corff – he would certainly remember a large group of new faces invading his tavern. A hand suddenly caught her arm, jerking her violently from her thoughts and stopping her in her tracks. Her head whipped up and she glared at the man who had so foolishly laid a hand upon her. She caught herself a split second before she could inflict any bodily harm upon him, recognizing him as the underground merchant contact she had been using to help her locate the relic.

"Jeremy!"

He instantly released his hold on her at the vicious gleam in her golden eyes and the sharpness of her voice.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He apologized instantly.

"You didn't." She assured him, but he looked less than convinced. "Do you have any news for me?" She pressed him, eager to be away from the docks and the ship she was growing ever more certain belonged to Castillon.

The merchant nodded his head. "Man named Devin Hollins." He said, talking in a low voice. "Word is he has been trying to sell an expensive item. An old book that's apparently worth its weight in gold."

Isabela's heart stuttered with relief at the news. "Where is he?"

"Darktown, last I heard. Ask around and someone should know where he is. You know how these things work."

The former Captain nodded her head. "Thanks for the tip." She said softly. Reaching into her purse, she retrieved several silvers and pressed them into his hand. He closed his fingers around the coins, gave her a brief smile, then brushed past her and continued walking down the docks.

_Devin Hollins_. Isabela repeated the name to herself carefully, memorizing it. A small measure of hope had been granted to her, giving her courage against the frightening thought that Castillon might have caught up with her after all. If she could find the damn Tome, she could return it to him straight away and hopefully avoid the punishment the Antivan merchant had undoubtedly planned to repay her for losing the relic in the first place. She hesitated for a few moments longer, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she debated which course of action to pursue first. She could either go straight to Darktown in search of this man, Devin Hollins, or she could continue to investigate the _Kalipsa _in order to find out exactly who owned her. It only took her a moment longer to make her choice. She simply _had _to know whether or not the galleon belonged to Castillon. She wasn't going to wait around for him to drive a dagger into her back.

...

Isabela pushed open a weathered door, stepping into the tavern with the confidence of one who had grown up in such places. The Hanged Man was not the sort of tavern that any self-respecting nobleman should ever be found in. In the light of day it was nothing more than a dirty, blood splattered hovel that was a cesspool for thieves, assassins, mercenaries and whores. Not that it was any better during the night, but at least then the shadows would hide most of the illicit dealings of Kirkwall's underground citizens. Her golden brown eyes flitted across the gloomy interior, taking in the roughly hewn chairs and tables scattered across the room, the blood spattered bar and the bartender, Corff, who stood behind it, cleaning out a mug with a filthy rag. Even in the early hours of the morning the tavern was still comfortably filled with patrons, though most of them were passed out drunk in their own vomit.

"Isabela." Corff greeted her as she approached the bar, a perfunctory smile flitting across his face. Esteemed customers such as herself and Varric were always treated with an extra amount of respect from the bartender. "I haven't seen much of you lately." He added, passing her a mug of ale as she leaned against the bar. She reached to pay for the drink, but he waved her off. "On the house."

"Cheers." Isabela replied gratefully, lifting the mug to her lips. She took a measured sip, no longer even noticing the foul taste of the ale that they served here. With time, one could grow used to anything. "There's a new ship in the docks." She said eventually, with deliberate nonchalance.

Corff nodded his head. "Several of the crew came in here last night." He told her, confirming her suspicions.

"Oh really?" She asked, glancing pointedly around the bar once more. "Are any of them still here?"

The burly bartender nodded his head, pointing out several drunken men that were passed out at a table near the rear of the tavern.

"There's a few of em upstairs too." He added. "They paid good coin for their ale and none of em caused too much trouble." Corff nodded his head in approval. In the Hanged Man, actual _paying _customers who didn't get blood all over the furniture were considered a blessing. Isabela sighed softly as she stared at the unconscious group of sailors. None of them were going to be coherent enough to be questioned any time soon.

"Any idea of who they're working for?" She asked, turning back to Corff. "By the look of that galleon in the docks it must be somebody important."

He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "They kept to themselves mostly. Didn't happen to catch the name of the man they worked for. The sailors were mostly Orlesian though. From what I can gather they must have come from Val Royeaux."

_It doesn't make an inch of difference where the crew is from_. Isabela thought irritably. She took another sip of her ale and settled herself more comfortably against the side of the bar, resigned to the fact that she would have to wait until one of the sailors had roused themselves from their drunken slumber before she would be able to get anything useful out of them.

The door to the tavern swung open again, spilling golden sunlight into the gloomy interior. Abigail Hawke stepped inside, followed closely by Aveline and Fenris. A brilliant smile spread across her face as she caught sight of Isabela.

"Drinking already?" She teased, walking towards her.

The former captain swirled the last of the yellowish liquid at the bottom of her tin mug, lifted it to her lips and drained it with a grimace of disgust. Sometimes she was dead certain that there were actual rat droppings in the dregs of her ale.

"There's no time like the present." She answered with a shrug, setting the mug back down on the table before her. She gave Hawke a curious glance. "You look like you're on a mission." She added, jerking her head towards Aveline and Fenris, neither of whom would ever deign enter the tavern unless they were following after Hawke.

"That I am." Abby replied cheerfully. "The Arishok has asked me to find our dear friend Javaris Tintop and figure out whether or not he finally managed to get his hands on Qunari explosives. Or at least what he probably will think is Qunari explosives…" She amended, smirking. "The Arishok is setting him up. But anyway, we're headed to Darktown now to look for him. Want to come?"

_Devin Hollins was in Darktown._ Isabela reminded herself. She nodded her head. "Sure, I'm in. In fact, there's someone I need to speak with while we're there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Anything you recognize, I don't own. Attribute it all to Bioware, except the pirate song, which is the theme song from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy ;)_

_Last night,_

_Can't remember,_

_What happened,_

_Where'd we go? _

_-Good Charlotte, Last Night_

It was after noon by the time Tristan awoke. Fine fingers of pale gold sunlight slipped through the gaps in his velvet curtains, spilling onto the rich red carpet that was spread over the floor. He sat up quickly, both surprised and irritated with himself for sleeping in. He was usually always an early riser. Standing up, he strode across the width of his small cabin and opened his closet. His style of clothing was simple; a loose fitting cotton shirt, snug fitting breeches and a pair of knee-high Orlesian leather boots. Mindful of his promise to Sonja, he left his staff safely in the back of the closet and instead strapped his pair of daggers to his back. He needed the practice anyway, he told himself, as he climbed up the companionway to the upper deck. He took a deep breath of crisp sea air as he stepped onto the deck, smiling contentedly at the azure blue sky above his head. The storm had blown over and the _Kalipsa _had seemingly suffered no damage from their misadventure.

"You've been asleep for hours." Sonja commented, when he finally found her standing at the stern of the ship, staring out into the small stretch of open water that filled the docks. "The Captain has already headed into town."

Tristan's eyes automatically flicked back towards the city, and he felt a small pang at the sight of it. Somewhere there, hidden deep between the white stone buildings, was his family's estate. He wondered what it might be like to see it once again…

"I think I'm going to head into the city as well." He murmured. "I might as well see about getting us some supplies while we're here."

"I'll come too!" She said quickly.

"I don't need a babysitter Parish." Tristan growled as he descended the gangplank onto the docks, with Sonja hot on his heels. "I'm just going to the market."

"So am I." She replied firmly, falling into step beside him. One glance into her steely grey eyes was enough to convince him that she wasn't going to back down.

"Fine." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Tag along if you must."

She beamed with happiness. "Brilliant!" She said, clapping her hands together and glancing around eagerly as they took the road which led up to Lowtown. After a few moments she grimaced, shaking her head in disgust. "This town is filthy."

He chuckled at her words, suddenly reminded of how very Orlesian she could occasionally act. Her boyish clothing and short, spiky blonde hair was usually enough to make him forget that she came from a city where women stuck live birds in their hair for the sake of fashion.

"Perhaps you'd better stay on the ship then." He teased her. "You wouldn't want to get your boots dirty, now would you?"

"Very funny, Amell." She groused, glaring at him. "It was just an observation." She added defensively.

Glancing around, Tristan couldn't help but agree with her. Even the Denerim Alienage had been cleaner than this.

"Hightown is better." He commented, remembering the large, white stone buildings and pretty terraced gardens from his childhood.

"You've been here before?" Sonja asked in surprise.

Tristan nodded his head, his blue eyes still flickering over the dilapidated buildings on either side of the road they walked on. "I was born here." He said, shrugging one shoulder. "I spent the first five years of my life in this city before I was sent to Ferelden's Circle of Magi."

"Maybe your family is still here?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. They moved." Hoping to change the subject, he pointed one finger ahead, gesturing towards a large statue of a hanging man which had been strung up over a door. "What do you suppose that is?"

"Someone's idea of a sick joke?" Parish offered. They both stared at the statue for a few moments, watching as it swayed ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. As the pair of them watched, the door suddenly swung open, and a rank smelling man with bloodshot eyes stumbled out, muttering incoherently.

"Dear Maker…" Sonja breathed. "It's a cult."

"Let's check it out!" Tristan said enthusiastically, moving forwards. Ignoring Sonja's frantic protestations, he pushed the weathered door open and slipped inside the dark interior.

"I think I just found half my crew." He said with a smirk, catching sight of the group of sailors who sat at a table near the back. It was only just after noon, yet each of them held a mug of ale between their hands. By their bloodshot eyes and the sour stench of ale and vomit which clung to them, they were obviously all hung over.

"They should all be keelhauled for this." Sonja seethed, glaring across the tavern at them. "They're acting like drunken louts. If Reynold saw them like this…"

"Leave them Parish." Tristan said, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the bar. A burly blonde haired bartender approached them. "What's the strongest thing you've got?" Tristan asked him.

"Moon shine." The man responded without hesitation, despite the fact that the stuff was illegal in almost all parts of Thedas save for the Tevinter Imperium.

"We'll have two shots of that." Tristan told him. "And keep them coming."

"_Tristan!_" Sonja gasped. "We are _not _drinking that stuff."

"I'll make you a deal." The Hero of Ferelden told her, a mischievous glint in his cobalt blue eyes. "If we each drink three shots, I will show you the house my family and I used to live in."

Ever since he had stepped foot in the city, he had been haunted by an almost overwhelming urge to revisit his old family estate. Some part of him, it seemed, was desperate to know a little of what he had lost the day he had been taken to the Circle.

_If I'm going to reopen old wounds, I might as well be drunk when I do it. _He thought. _Oghren would be proud. _

The bartender placed two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid onto the bar. Sonja picked hers up, eyeing it warily.

"You're a bad influence Tristan Amell."

"So everyone tells me. For the life of me I still haven't figured out why they made me a Warden Commander."

"It probably had something to do with you killing that archdemon." Sonja replied, without lifting her gaze from the small glass she held between her fingertips. She suddenly stiffened, glancing around suspiciously. "Maker I forgot… We're not supposed to let anyone know who you are."

Tristan followed her gaze around the bar. "Don't worry Parish." He reassured her. "I don't think any of the unconscious patrons heard you."

"Nevertheless." She said firmly. "We should find something else to call you while we're here. How about…" She paused, her brow narrowing as she wracked her brain for a name. "Dirk?" She offered eventually.

"Dirk?" Tristan laughed. "By the Maker, how did you come up with that?"

"It was the first blade you learned how to use." She responded eagerly. Tristan stared at her for a moment, startled by her seemingly all extensive knowledge of him.

"Fine." He agreed eventually. "If it makes you feel better you can call me Dirk." He raised his glass up pointedly and with a sigh, she did the same. "Cheers." He said, clinking his glass against hers before draining the small measure of burning alcohol in a single gulp.

…

Five hours and countless shots of moonshine later saw Sonja and Tristan stumbling drunkenly through Lowtown in search of his childhood home. The sun was slowly sinking behind Sundermount, casting gloomy shadows over the city of Kirkwall. Tristan shook his head miserably as they walked.

"No… This isn't right… it's around here somewhere. We just have to find Hightown." He glanced around, his brow furrowing as he glared at the rundown buildings that surrounded them. "I don't think this is it…"

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
>We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot.<br>Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
>We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.<br>Drink up me 'earties, yo ho_." Parish sang drunkenly on top of her voice, her voice echoing around the empty streets.

"Parish!" Tristan cried despairingly. "Get serious here! I think we might be lost!"

"Come on Tristan!" Sonja coerced. "Sing the next verse!"

"No."

"_Please_?" She begged.

The Warden Commander sighed, opened his mouth and began to sing.

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
>We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack.<br>Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
>Maraud and embezzle and even highjack.<br>Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._"

Sonja giggled delightedly, clapping her hands. "I _love _this song!"

"You hate this song." Tristan replied, frowning as the street they were walking down ended in yet another dead end. He glanced up at the unfamiliar houses around them, feeling slightly hopeless.

"But it's about pirates!"

"You hate pirates."

Sonja's face fell as she thought about it. "You're right…" She said slowly. "I _do_ hate pirates. Filthy bastards."

"So I've heard." He replied noncommittally.

"Maybe we should go back to the docks." She offered, still humming the tune to the song.

Tristan nodded his head, suddenly relieved that he wouldn't have to find his old home after all. "Yes, yes. Let's go back to the ship!" He glanced around again. "Shit… Which way to the docks?"

"Um…" Sonja cast a quick, uncertain glance around before pointing towards a random alleyway. "Let's go that way. There's a bunch of people there."

Tristan whirled around, surprised to find a group of people crowding the entrance to a side alley at the other end of the road. His natural curiosity getting the best of him, he led the way towards them.

"Please, all of you," A guard said as they approached. "I can't fight the damn air. Stay back."

"Yes, stay back." Tristan told the crowd commandingly. He turned back to the guard. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He added, walking forwards.

"I'm sorry Messere but that means you too." The guard placed a restraining hand against Tristan's chest. "There's been some sort of gas leak here. It's poisonous… It's been driving people mad."

The guard's words sobered Tristan up somewhat. He took another glance down the alleyway, grimacing as he noticed the fine threads of noxious green gas creeping towards them. If the guard waited any longer, the gas would begin to seep even further into the city. Someone had to stop this – and fast. Even as drunk as he was, Tristan realized he was probably the most capable person for the job.

"Let me through." He said quietly, meeting the guardsman's eye. "I can fix this."

"Trist… I mean Dirk…" Sonja hastily corrected herself. Tristan was amazed she could even remember his alias as drunk as she was. The girl was swaying on her feet. "I think we should listen to the good guardsman here and just leave."

"I can fix this Parish." He replied firmly. He turned back to the guard. "Give me twenty minutes. And make sure that _she _doesn't follow me." He gestured towards Sonja, who instantly started protesting even louder.

"Dirk! No! Listen to me! That's a bad, bad idea… Let's just turn around and go…"

"I'll be back before you know it." He replied, cutting across her tirade. Before either she or the guard could stop him, he quickly slipped into the alleyway, disappearing into a sea of green gas.

He pressed one hand against his mouth as he walked, the harsh chemicals in the gas causing him to choke. His foot caught against an oddly shaped rock and he tripped, cursing loudly.

"Of all the nights to get drunk." He groaned. Turning around, he snatched up the item he had fallen over, glaring at the piece of steel he held uncomprehendingly. It was only when he stood up and caught sight of the leaking barrels that were situated all around the alleyway that he realized what he had stumbled upon. It was a latch, one which would seal off the barrels to stop them from spewing the gas out onto the streets. With this in mind he moved purposefully towards the nearest barrel. Between the poisonous gas and the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, his hand-eye co-ordination was slightly off and it took him several minutes of struggling and swearing to secure the latch in place. He stepped back once he was done, smiling proudly at the result of his efforts. The barrel had been effectively sealed off. He glanced back around the side alley.

_One down, three more to go. _He thought, his blue eyes flickering over the remaining unsealed barrels. He moved forwards, scanning the ground for yet another steel latch. A movement to the left of him caught his eye and he jerked his head up, narrowing his eyes at the group of black clad bandits that were moving towards him. At a glance he could already count at least a dozen of them. He momentarily considered using the blades strapped to his back, if only to appease Sonja, but almost immediately dismissed the idea.

_Screw being inconspicuous. _He thought. _I'll settle for just staying alive. _And with that he stretched his hand out towards the approaching wave of bandits and sent a chain lightning straight into their midst.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: First off, a special thanks to rednightmare and TraiNe-Fresh for reviewing. It really warms my heart that you guys took that extra little time to say what you think. I have tried to fix the problems with my dialogue streaming, so I'm hoping that will be better now. (Thanks so so much for pointing that out :):) I always appreciate help and constructive criticism.) Anyway… here's the next chapter. Work is starting to pile up for me, so if these chapters start taking a little longer to submit, please just bear with me. :) _

**Chapter 4**

_Don't worry you'll show them,_

_There's a fire in your eyes,_

_And I hope you'll let it burn,_

_There's a scream in your voice,_

_And I hope you will be heard. _

_-The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Seventeen Aint So Sweet._

The sun had long since abandoned its fight against the darkness when Abigail Hawke and her small group finally returned to Lowtown. Deep shadows blanketed the city, casting a menacing light upon the ramshackle buildings and alley-ways. Heavy smoke from the city foundries had once more asserted itself across the sky, blocking off what meager light the moon might have provided. The streets were hauntingly quiet, in sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle of the daytime. Abigail's eyes flickered around the darkness constantly, all too aware that the nights of Kirkwall belonged to bandits. She spared a momentary glance back at her three companions. Two were heavily armored, one didn't need to be. But all three of them were more than capable in a fight. Abby nibbled at her bottom lip worriedly as she considered their weary, blood splattered forms. At least she _hoped _they would be capable in a fight… All four of them were exhausted from a wasted day spent chasing after Javaris Tintop, a man in turned out they didn't need to find. Instead they had been forced to return to Lowtown in search of some mystery elf that Javaris had referred to. Upon arriving back in Kirkwall, one of Aveline's men had hurriedly informed her that there was a commotion down in Lowtown. Someone had let off poisonous gas in a side alley.

_I wonder who? _Abby thought sarcastically.

By the time she, Aveline, Fenris and Isabela reached the side alley, it was too late. Or at least that's what the guard standing outside told them.

"What do you mean we're too late?" Aveline demanded, folding her arms impatiently across her chest.

The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. "I mean, somebody already went in there to fix the problem… About ten minutes ago,"

"And you just let him in there, did you?" the Guard Captain was growing more frustrated by the minute. "For all you know he could be dead already!"

"He… he seemed pretty confident," the guard stammered, not meeting Aveline's furious glare.

Abigail sighed loudly. This little argument was getting them absolutely nowhere and meanwhile, some poor sod was probably choking on poisonous gas while trying to play hero. The mage placed a delicate hand on Aveline's shoulder, hoping to calm the Guard Captain down.

"It doesn't matter who went in there," she said placatingly. "We should probably go and check it out for ourselves regardless,"

"Another day, another wasted mission trying to save the world," Isabela muttered sarcastically from behind her. Abigail rolled her eyes in irritation, but didn't bother dignifying Isabela's comment with a response. For some inexplicable reason, the usually cheerful pirate had been in a particularly bad mood the entire day.

"Come on," she said impatiently, waving them forwards. She headed into the alleyway, surprised to find that the gas the guard had described was not much more than a few wispy green plumes of smoke which clung to the cobbled floor. Either Aveline's men were prone to exaggeration, or the mystery man who had headed inside ten minutes before them must have done something to fix the problem.

"Dear Maker!" Aveline suddenly hissed.

The four of them stopped, staring around the side alley in wide eyed surprise. At least twenty or so bandit corpses littered the floor. The guard outside had said nothing about bandits, which meant that these bodies had to be a recent addition. At the far end of the alleyway, a raven haired man stood in front of a blonde elf, speaking to her in a low, even voice. He turned towards them as they approached, his brilliant blue eyes flickering over them with obvious relief.

"I found your culprit," he told them, gesturing towards the elf. Abigail was startled to see that he had tightly bound the girl's wrists behind her back with a length of rope. "From what I can gather, she's a bit of a heretic. All her babbling is giving me a damn headache too. Could you take her from here?"

"Wait a second! Are you meaning to tell me that you killed all these bandits _and _somehow managed to subdue this girl?" Aveline asked, her green eyes wide.

The stranger shook his head, smiling charmingly.

_Damn. _Abby thought, her stomach aflutter. _He is hot._

"Of course not," he responded. "I simply came down here, found this nut over here running around unplugging all these barrels and decided to stop her before she hurt somebody,"

"You liar!" the elf spat. "He ripped through my bandits like they were nothing," she hissed. "He _ruined _everything!"

"Very impressive," Abigail told him, returning his smile. "You shouldn't be so modest,"

"The elf's exaggerating," he replied with a shrug, looking slightly uncomfortable. "You should get her out of here before she starts spouting more nonsense about the Qunari,"

As if on cue, the elf began her tirade. "How dare you? Do you know what my people have gone through? They abandon their faith, then go to the Qun for purpose…"

Aveline reached forwards and grabbed the girl's arm, roughly moving her forwards. "Come on," she sighed. "You can explain all the many reasons you had for destroying an entire street once we reach the gallows. I'm sure the Viscount will be fascinated to hear it all," she glanced back at the dark haired stranger. "Thank you… I don't even know your name…"

"It's Dagger," he told her. His brow furrowed. "No wait… That wasn't it… Bade? No… Dirk! My name is Dirk," he said triumphantly, flashing them another gorgeous grin.

"He's drunk," Isabela commented, smiling for the first time that day.

"Just a little bit," he replied, winking at her.

"Well, Dirk," Abby said, extending a hand towards him. "I'm Hawke. Pleased to meet you,"

He took her hand gently and shook it. "A pleasure. And your friends are…?" he added, glancing behind her.

"Oh!" Abby blushed a little at her lack of manners. "This is Fenris, Isabela and that's Aveline," she added, pointing to the Guard Captain who had already made her way to the entrance of the alleyway, still struggling with the angry elf fanatic.

"How did you manage to dispose of these men?" Fenris asked suspiciously. "There isn't a scrap of blood on your clothes or your blades,"

"Fenris," Hawke hissed softly, knowing exactly where the elf was going with his line of interrogation. "Stop it!"

"He's an apostate," the former slave snarled.

"So am I," she replied heatedly. "What do you intend to do about it?" she turned around to glare at him, her piercing blue eyes meeting his bright green ones with anger. This was an age old argument between them, and one which she was certain they would never resolve.

"He could be a blood mage for all we know,"

"Well seeing as though there isn't any blood around I guess that answers your question," Isabela chipped in, gesturing around the quiet alleyway with one hand. She glanced over at Dirk. "You wouldn't happen to be a blood mage, would you?"

He shook his head, smirking in bemusement. "No, no I'm not,"

Abby continued to glare at Fenris, waiting until he finally dropped his gaze away from her before turning back to Dirk.

"I think what Fenris is _trying _to say, is thank you. You saved a lot of lives tonight, Dirk," she said, her voice still clipped with anger. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink to say thanks?"

He shook his head quickly, grimacing. "I think I've had more than enough to drink for one day…"

"Then let me buy you something to eat," she responded quickly. For some, inexplicable reason, she just couldn't allow him to simply walk away from her.

He nodded his head slowly. "Thanks," he said softly. Behind her, Abby heard Fenris utter a soft curse. Pointedly ignoring him, she fell into step with Dirk as they walked out of the side ally. They found Aveline waiting for them just outside.

"Where's the elf?" Fenris asked.

"I sent her with my guardsman to the gallows," the red-haired guardswoman sighed. "Thank you for apprehending her Dirk,"

"It was nothing," he replied, distractedly glancing up and down the street. His blue eyes fell upon the unconscious form of a short-haired young blonde girl who lay propped up against a nearby wall and he walked to her side and knelt down with a grimace, scooping her up into his arms. A brotherly look of tenderness crossed his features as the girl wound her arms around his neck, mumbling incoherently.

"Are we still lost?" the girl muttered, wide grey eyes flickering momentarily open.

Dirk nodded his head, smiling down at her. "Go back to sleep Parish. I'll get you back safely,"

She closed her eyes again, her head lolling against his shoulder.

"Lost?" Abby echoed, moving closer to them. "Do you need help getting somewhere?"

"My ship is down at the docks," he replied a little sheepishly. "But Maker help me I just can't figure out how to get back there,"

"Your ship?" Isabela's voice was sharp. Abby turned to stare at her curiously. The pirate's gold eyes were ablaze with interest.

"That's what I said," Dirk replied evenly, frowning a little at the rapt attention on Isabela's face. He shifted Parish's weight in his arms. "Is there somewhere she can sleep for a couple of hours? The Captain will have me keelhauled for getting his First Mate drunk like this,"

"I have a room at the Hanged Man," Isabela offered instantly. "She can sleep it off there while Hawke buys you a meal,"

"The Hanged Man?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Would that be the dirty hovel I just spent the past four hours getting drunk in?"

"Hey!" Isabela protested. "That _dirty hovel _is the best tavern in Lowtown,"

"I think it's actually the _only _tavern in Lowtown," Aveline broke in.

Dirk smirked. "That would explain how the owner gets away with serving rat droppings in his ale,"

Isabela placed her hands on her hips, glaring at him in mock anger. She opened her mouth to retort back, but the words died on her lips as a shout echoed down the streets towards them.

"_Amell_! By Andraste's flaming knickers, where the hell have you been?"

The five of them all turned to stare at the dark haired, burly giant of a man who was striding towards them.

"Crap," Dirk hissed, momentary panic flitting across his features. "Captain Reynold!" he called back, in a louder voice. "So glad you found us,"

The Captain reached their side, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared down at the unconscious girl in Dirk's arms.

"Dear Maker, Amell. What did you do to Parish?"

_Amell? _Abby thought in surprise, recognizing her mother's family name. She cast a quizzical glance towards Dirk. Who was this man?

"I found her passed out in some tavern!" Dirk replied, his voice scandalized. "I think the other sailors got her drunk,"

Abby suppressed a smirk at his words. She distinctly remembered the raven haired stranger admitting that _he _was the one who had gotten the young girl drunk. Apparently Dirk Amell was an expert liar.

"Bloody fool," the Captain sighed. "I always thought Parish was smart enough to stay out of trouble,"

"Apparently not," Dirk replied unrepentantly.

"We should probably get her back to the ship," Reynold said.

Dirk nodded his head. He glanced at Abby apologetically. "I should probably go with her. I guess we'll have to get dinner some other time,"

"Amell?" Hawke asked, before she could stop herself. "Your name is Amell?"

Something in his eyes changed at the name. The teasing light that had been there only moments before was replaced by transient suspicion.

"What about it?"

"My mother's name is Leandra Amell. Any chance we're related?" she tried to keep her voice light, but she couldn't quite hide the hope behind her words. Even as she said it, she was suddenly struck by the similarities between them. They both had the same clear, tanned complexion, the same raven hair and intensely blue eyes. They even shared the same ability to perform magic. She unconsciously held her breath as he scanned her face, realizing that the same thoughts were going through his head.

"Tristan," Reynold said suddenly, staring between the pair of them curiously. "Who are your friends?"

"Tristan?" Aveline repeated sharply, suspicion flaring to life within her. "I thought you said your name was Dirk?"

He shook his head, still staring at Abigail. "I was trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I thought an alias might be easier," he admitted. His blue eyes flickered briefly over to Reynold. "Parish's idea," he told him, and the burly man nodded, smiling knowingly.

"So your name is Tristan?" Abby said, her brow furrowing as she uttered the name out loud. There was something so familiar about it… "Tristan Amell," she tried his full name out, and suddenly everything clicked into place. "Dear Maker… You're the Hero of Ferelden,"


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews guys. :) _

**Chapter 5**

_I don't think that passenger seat,_

_Has ever looked this good to me,_

_He tells me about his night,_

_And I count the colours in his eyes._

_He'll never fall in love he swears,_

_As he runs his fingers through his hair,_

_I'm laughing 'cus I hope he's wrong… _

_-Taylor Swift, I'd Lie._

Sonja Parish woke to a blinding pain across her temples. For a few moments she lay completely motionless, trying to get her bearings. There was a foul, bitter taste in her mouth, a pain in the pit of her stomach and her body ached all over. From the feel of the worn but firm mattress beneath her, and the subtle creak and groan of wood as the _Kalipsa _swayed against her moorings, she realised that she was back in bed in her cabin. Experimentally, she tried opening her eyes. She groaned loudly as she did so, immediately squeezing her grey eyes tightly shut against the blinding sunlight that streamed in through the small, circular window in her cabin. Rolling over onto her stomach, she pressed her face into her mattress and pulled her pillow over her head. The movement was enough to send a wave of nausea through her and she gagged, grimacing at the taste in her mouth.

"Dear Maker," she growled.

"How are you feeling Parish?" a voice asked her, from somewhere above her head.

"Shut up Luke," Sonja hissed, kicking the wooden underside of the bed above her with her foot. There was a resounding _thud _next to her as he leapt off the top bunk, landing heavily beside her.

"I am going to kill Tristan," she muttered.

"Tristan?" Luke echoed in surprise. She lifted her head, staring blearily into his dark brown eyes. She had been sharing a cabin with Luke Thorne for as long as she could remember. They had grown up together in Val Royeaux, taking whatever sailing jobs were on offer. He was her best friend and her closest confident, and as such was the only person she had confessed her unrequited love of Ferelden's hero to. Not that it seemed to matter. Sonja was secretly certain the entire crew knew how she felt.

"Why would you blame your dear and darling Warden Commander?" he asked her, smirking at her obvious hang over. "He was the one who carried you back here last night in his arms,"

"He _what_?" Sonja sat up quickly, wincing at the dizziness that followed the sudden movement.

Luke chuckled loudly. "You were unconscious at the time, so I don't really expect you to remember. It was kind of sweet," he added teasingly. Parish threw her pillow at him and he ducked, laughing even harder. She scowled at him.

"It isn't funny. I should never have passed out in the first place!" she snapped. "How drunk was he?" she added.

Luke shook his head, frowning. "He didn't seem drunk at all,"

"Damn him!" she growled, punching the bed in frustration. "How does he always manage to be so damn _perfect_?"

"Maybe it's a perk that comes from being a Grey Warden."

"No… It's just him…" she murmured, the anger ebbing from her voice as her thoughts flickered to the perfection and mystery that was Tristan Amell. Luke made a gagging noise and tossed her pillow back to her, before pushing himself to his feet.  
>"I think I'll leave you to your love struck mooning, if it's all the same to you," he told her, rolling his dark brown eyes.<p>

"Where are you going?" Parish demanded, grimacing as another wave of nausea threatened to empty her stomach.

"The _Kalipsa _ended up suffering some damage from the storm after all. Minor stuff, but the Captain wants her completely sound before we set sail again. When you're feeling a little better, come above decks and give us a hand,"

Sonja nodded grimly. "Sure thing,"

She waited until he had walked out of their small cabin and pulled the door shut behind him before lunging towards the rough wooden bucket that sat in the corner of the room and emptying her stomach inside of it.

….

It was only hours later that she finally managed to drag herself above deck, glaring daggers at anyone who dared make a comment about her little 'misadventure' the previous day. The fact that she could remember next to nothing about the whole thing only made it that much worse. Sonja cast a glance up at the sky above her as she stalked down the polished wooden deck, relieved to note that the weather had maintained its cheerful disposition. The azure depths above her were marbled with snowy white clouds, boasting a clear and crisp autumn day. She found Tristan at the stern of the ship, casually leaning over the railing and staring out at the docks.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, without turning around. Whether he simply possessed an incredible sense of hearing, or his skills as a mage enabled him to _sense _other people, Sonja could never figure out. All she knew was that it was impossible to sneak up on Tristan Amell. She leaned against the rail, staring up into his all-too-handsome face.

"Not at all," she grouched. "This is all your fault, you know,"

He nodded his head absently, not bothering to deny it. She glared at him, hating the fact that _he _didn't look hung over at all, while she was left looking like an absolute wreck. Then a moment later she softened, wondering why he hadn't tried to tease her about this fact.

"What's wrong?"

He finally glanced down at her, causing her heart to beat a little faster beneath his searing blue gaze.

"I just want to get out of this city," he admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

"Luke said the Captain found some damage on the _Kalipsa_,"

Tristan nodded glumly. "Looks like we're bound to be delayed a few weeks," he sighed. "I guess I'm going to have to start opening old wounds after all,"

She stilled at his words, wondering if he was actually going to open up to her and admit to some sort of inner torment. After all the months she had spent working so hard to become his friend, she still felt like an outsider to him. He treated her like a kid, like the little sister he'd never had. It was frustrating beyond belief.

"Old wounds?" she probed gently, when it seemed he didn't intend to add anything to his strange statement.

_Come on. _She silently begged. _Let me in. _

He raked his hand back through his black hair, the familiar gesture revealing the depth of his frustration. His blue eyes flickered over her face, and for a moment she knew he was debating with himself about whether or not he should tell her what he was thinking. Then he sighed again and Sonja knew she had lost. His eyes shuttered and grew distant once more.

"It's nothing,"

She clenched her hands into fists, wishing she could push him to say something more, but not knowing how. After a few more minutes spent standing in strained, awkward silence next to one another, she decided she couldn't take much more of it.

She simply didn't know how to handle him when he got into these moods.

Stepping away from the rail, she walked back down the deck towards the bow. The rest of the crew winked and chuckled as she passed, leaving Sonja to wonder at exactly how drunk she was the previous night. A small smile danced across her lips as she remembered Luke's words.

_He carried me back, _she thought. It made every inch of her hang over worth it.

"Parish!" Reynold's voice called her sharply as she passed the gangplank. He was standing on the docks, a large wooden crate cradled in his arms.

"Yes?" she replied, stepping off the ship and walking towards him.

"You okay?" he asked her, frowning.

She nodded her head, wishing she could die from shame. Did everyone know she had ended up blind drunk last night? "I'm fine Captain," she replied coolly.

"Good," he replied, seemingly convinced by her answer. He inclined his head to a stack of wooden crates that were lined up on the wooden dock behind him. "Then do me a favor and haul these up on deck,"

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped onto the gangplank and headed back up onto the _Kalipsa, _whistling tunelessly to himself. Sonja grimaced, considering the idea of going back on deck and finding Luke to help her. The crates were filled with oranges and would no doubt be heavy.

"Need some help?" a voice asked from behind her. Sonja whirled around, staring in surprise at the olive skinned Rivaini woman who stood just behind her. She was dressed in a short, corseted white shift and thigh-high leather boots, her ebony hair held back by a patterned blue bandana which matched the blue sash that hung loosely around her waist. She had the kind of figure that Sonja had always envied, one that was undeniably curvy and feminine and left Parish feeling awkward and boyish beside her. The woman suddenly smiled, her gold eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Hey! You're that girl from yesterday!"

"I am?" Sonja asked, feeling bemused.

The Rivaini nodded. "Your name is Parish, isn't it? You wouldn't remember me… You were unconscious at the time," she explained, her smile turning into a smirk.

"So I keep hearing," Parish growled, scowling.

Gold eyes dancing with amusement, the woman stuck out a gloved hand. "My name is Isabela," she offered.

Sonja took her hand after a moment's hesitation and shook it.

"Here, let me help you," Isabela said quickly, lifting one of the crates of oranges into her arms. She cast a pointed glance towards the _Kalipsa_. "We're taking these over there, right?"

Sonja nodded her head as she picked up another crate, shifting its weight more comfortably in her arms. She had been right – the crates were heavy. She could feel the muscles in her forearms straining beneath the weight.

"Thanks," she muttered, suddenly grateful for the help. She led the way back up the gangplank, with Isabela following close on her heels.

"She's beautiful," the Rivaini woman sighed as they stepped onto the deck of the galleon, glancing around with obvious admiration.

"The _Kalipsa _is the fastest ship on the Eastern Seas," Sonja replied, unable to resist a little bragging. "You won't find another like her,"

She set the crate of oranges down with a grunt, and motioned for the woman to do the same. She would get Luke to help her move them into the hold later on, she decided.

"Isabela wasn't it?" Tristan's voice called out teasingly. Sonja jerked her head up in surprise as he approached them.

_How the hell does he know her name? _she wondered, suddenly feeling irrationally angry towards the Rivaini woman standing next to her.

Isabela turned towards him, a warm smile spreading across her pretty features. "Tristan, wasn't it? Or was it Dirk? Or maybe Dagger…?" she taunted, her hands on her hips.

Tristan chuckled loudly, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Hey, I was drunk," he protested. "People tend to forget their names when they get inebriated,"

"You two know each other?" Sonja interrupted, unable to keep the coldness out of her voice. Tristan glanced at her curiously.

"We met yesterday Parish,"

"And she already knows who you are," Sonja snapped, narrowing her eyes at Isabela, who looked startled by the sudden vehemence directed at her.

"Hey," the Warden protested. "I tried using your little alias and it didn't work. Reynold came along and exposed me five minutes later,"

If he wasn't her Captain, Sonja might have seriously entertained the idea of inflicting grievous bodily harm upon Reynold at that moment.

"I thought you were going to be carefulwhile we were here! Not run around getting drunk and telling everyone exactly_ who you are_!" She ranted, her voice growing louder and louder with each word, until she was practically screaming at him.

"Parish," Tristan said, his calm tone at startling odds to the hysteria in her voice. "You need to calm down," he placed a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Isabela isn't a Templar. She has no interest in turning me in. And even if she did, it wouldn't matter, because I am a Warden Commander and the Hero of Ferelden for the Maker's sake. No one is going to lock me away, so calm down,"

She took a deep breath, nodding her head slowly as she stared into his brilliant blue eyes. She was uncomfortably aware of his hand on her shoulder, warmth seeming to seep into her skin from his palm.

"Are you going to stop screaming at me?" Tristan asked after a few moments.

Sonja nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good," he pulled his hand away from her shoulder and grinned at her. "Now would you please stop acting like a complete and utter psychopath?"

She sighed. Damn him, he was right. She _was _acting like a psychopath… How did he always manage to do this to her?

"Okay, okay… Just promise me you'll be careful," She begged.

"I'm always careful," He replied, winking at her. Sonja rolled her eyes.

"I'll look after him for you, kitten," Isabela added teasingly. There was something in her eyes as she glanced over at Sonja, something almost _knowing. _Sonja glared back at her.

_Maker damn it all!_ she screamed in her head, suddenly recognizing the glint in Isabela's golden brown eyes._ How does _everyone _seem to realize how I feel about Tristan except him?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Everybody's watching you,_

_Everybody waits for you now,_

_What happens next,_

_What happens next?_

_-Switchfoot, I dare you to move._

It had to be the single most beautiful ship she had ever seen. The brief glimpse she had snatched of the _Kalipsa _the previous day, caught between the crowd of curious sailors that had pressed around her, was nothing in comparison to actually being able to stand on the ship's polished decks. Isabela felt her heart thud painfully in her chest as she cast a discreet glance around the galleon. It was nothing like _The Siren's Call_ had been. Her old ship had been rough and rugged, and you'd have been hard pressed to find an inch of her wooden frame that wasn't age worn or pockmarked or blood splattered. To compare the two ships was to compare a thoroughbred to a carthorse. The _Kalipsa _was sleek and shiny, every inch of her mahogany frame pristine and perfectly maintained. But despite these differences, the galleon felt more like home to her than the room in the Hanged Man which she had lived in for the past three years.

"I take it you like my ship," Tristan said in amusement. Isabela glanced back at him, startled to find that they were now standing alone together. Parish had walked back down the gangplank and was standing on the docks, talking to another sailor and gesturing impatiently towards the crates of oranges which were stacked near the _Kalipsa_.

"She's beautiful," she told Tristan honestly, smiling. The Hero of Ferelden returned her smile warmly, and she took an instant liking to him. There was something about his charming smile, his easy confidence and the mischievous glint in his intensely blue eyes which drew her in like a moth to a flame.

"So," Tristan said, staring at her expectantly. "Where are we going?"

"Excuse me?" Isabela asked, laughing. "What do you mean?"

"You came here looking for me, I presume," he said.

Not really... She had come down to the docks with the intention of reassuring herself once and for all that the _Kalipsa _was not under Castillon's command. Bumping into Tristan Amell was nothing more than a rather handsome bonus. Isabela didn't bother trying to explain it all to him.

"Yup," she lied cheerfully. "I came down here looking for you."

"Good. Because I don't feel like getting lost again," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Once was enough. Come on," he motioned her forwards with one hand and began to descend the gangplank. "I need to find the harbour master. You know where he is right?"

Isabela laughed again as she fell into step beside him. "You're telling me you can't be trusted to find your way from your ship to the harbour master's office?"

He chuckled, his confidence seemingly unruffled by her taunting. "I grew up in a Circle. Maps and directions are a pretty foreign concept to me,"

"Well then its lucky I happened to come along. This way," she added, leading him through up the weathered stone steps that lead to the harbour master's office. As always, her golden brown eyes flickered across the yellow stone street towards the Qunari compound when as they drew near, and she felt a shudder of unease run through her. She placed a hand on Tristan's elbow, deliberately steering him in the opposite direction.

"There's the harbour master," she pointed the man out. Tristan withdrew a document from a pouch at his waist and approached him.

"It appears my ship has suffered some minor damages in the storm. I'm going to need to dock here for a while longer," he explained. He handed the document across. "Here's my shipping manifest. I trust you'll find everything is in order?"

The harbour master nodded his head absently, sparing the manifest only a cursory glance. "Yes, yes. Everything is fine. Thank you Messere,"

"So that's it then?" Isabela asked as Tristan returned to her side. She raised a brow and smirked. "Anywhere else you need me to take you?"

"Anywhere but back to my ship," he told her. "I think I'm starting to get cabin fever,"

"Hanged Man, it is," Isabela decided.

Tristan shook his head despairingly. "What is it about that place that everyone here seems to love? Maker knows it's not the ale,"

"Sometimes you just want to go where everyone knows your name," she replied, leading the way out of the docks.

"That will make Parish feel _so _much better," he said, following after her with a sigh. Isabela smirked, her thoughts flickering back to the love-struck Orlesian sailor.

_Poor girl_, she thought. _Tristan doesn't have a clue._

…..

"Isabela, my dusky goddess!" a drunken voice assuaged her as she reached the bar. The pirate gritted her teeth, sent a silent plea to the Maker she didn't believe in for patience, and ordered herself, Tristan and Varric each another round of ale. She spared a momentary glance back at the table where the two men sat, her lips quirking with amusement as the dwarf eagerly pressed the Ferelden hero for details about his adventures. Varric had a nose for good stories, and at that moment he was sniffing around like Tristan Amell like a bloodhound after a rabbit. Tristan was leaning back lazily in his chair, balancing it on the back two legs. Sensing her gaze, he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the man standing next to her. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

"You have buried yourself into the flesh of my heart like a worm in a red, red apple…you heart worm you…" the drunk continued, leaning a little closer and leering down at her breasts. Ordinarily, she would have let him continue his tirade for a little longer before getting rid of the letch, but at that moment Tristan was stalking across the tavern towards them, his blue eyes fixed upon the poor, unsuspecting fool in irritation.

"Oh look, my friend's here," she said quickly, giving the man a slight shove and sending him reeling backwards.

"Need help carrying those drinks?" Tristan offered as he approached. He raised one eyebrow, inclining his head towards the drunk, but Isabela shook her head quickly. No need for this to get messy, the poor sod was harmless enough.

The drunkard took one glance at Tristan's face and decided it was time to make his escape while he still could. He staggered back across the tavern, joining a group of his equally inebriated companions.

Isabela glanced back at Tristan and smiled. "Come to defend my honour, have you? Because if you have I should probably warn you, I have none,"

Tristan laughed softly, his irritation melting into amusement. He started to say something in response, but his words were lost as the door of the tavern suddenly crashed open. Two Templars stood in the doorway, their shiny armor looking strangely out of place in the dirty bar. Silence descended upon the crowd of patrons as the pair of chantry soldiers stepped inside, their hands clutching the hilts of their swords.

"This looks like trouble," Tristan muttered.

They strode into the tavern, heading straight towards the bar. Corff warily stepped towards them, his expression guarded.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"I'm sorry Serah, but I have been ordered to escort you to the gallows,"

_What? _Isabela jerked in surprise as did all of the patrons inside the tavern. A few men stood up, some muttering in protest.

"W-what?" Corff stammered. "I'm no apostate…"

"Everything will be explained to you once we are back at the gallows," one Templar explained.

"No!" The burly bartender protested loudly, stumbling backwards. Fear was etched across his features. "No you can't take me! I'm no mage!"

The angry mutterings of the crowd of patrons grew louder as more men and woman in the bar rose to their feet.

"Hey! You can't take him!" someone yelled.

"Yea, who's going to serve us ale?" another person added worriedly.

This sentiment drove the Hanged Man into chaos. The patrons pressed forwards as one towards the bar, knocking over tables and chairs in the process. One of the Templars drew his sword, swinging it wildly to keep the panicked people back. Screams and shouts flooded the tavern. Tristan suddenly moved forwards pushing his way to the front of the crowd.

"On whose authority is this man being taken in?" he demanded, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. Silence descended around the gloomy tavern.

"Knight Commander Meredith has ordered that this man be taken in for questioning. This establishment has been known to have harbored blood mages, apostates and criminal fugitives," one of the Templars responded. "He may have insight into a particular apostate that we are currently searching for,"

Angry shouts pierced the tentative silence at his words, and again the Templars instinctively reached for their swords. Isabela wasn't sure that a mere pair of Templars would be enough. At any moment now, she was certain, the fine ties that kept these men and women in one piece would break, and anarchy would reign.

"Do you have a written statement declaring as much from the Knight Commander?" Tristan asked, his voice once more commandingly silencing the crowd. A sea of anxious faces watched the Warden uncertainly.

The second Templar nodded his head and pulled out the document with a flourish. He handed it to Tristan, who narrowed his blue eyes as he scanned it. Eventually he shoved the papers back into the Templar's hands, looking furious.

"Let him go," he said, his voice low with anger. "You won't be needing any information from him,"

"I'm afraid we do," the first Templar insisted. He turned back to the assembled crowd of angry patrons. "If you people know what's good for you, you'll disperse immediately!"

"There's no need," Tristan said sharply. He glared at the Templars who stood beside him. "I am the one the Knight Commander is looking for. Take me into your custody and release this man,"

The Templars acted immediately. One grabbed Tristan's arms and wrenched them behind his back, while the other turned to Corff.

"You are free to go. Your confession is no longer required,"

Corff immediately backed away from them, relief shimmering in his eyes. The crowd surged around him, tittering in relief.

Isabela only spared the bartender a cursory glance before turning her attention back to Tristan, who was being forcibly led through the crowd by the Templars.

_They're taking him to the gallows, _she thought, an odd feeling of panic rising inside of her.

"Where are you going Rivaini?" Varric called as she began following after him, her feet moving of their own volition.

"Tell Aveline to meet me at the gallows," she yelled over the din of the exuberant crowd. "They can't get away with this!" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and towards the door after Tristan. She pressed through the throng of people impatiently, eventually clambering over the top of a table to reach the doorway. She burst through and instantly caught sight of Tristan again. The Templar who held him was pushing him roughly down the street, but the Warden Commander offered no resistance to his treatment. He accepted it with the indifference that only comes from growing up in the midst of such abuse.

"Get back citizen," One of the Templars commanded as she reached Tristan's side.

"I'm his accomplice," the Rivaini pirate blurted impulsively, the words spilling from her lips before she had even had a chance to consider what she was saying. "If you're taking him in then you'll have to take me too,"

Both Templars suddenly froze, staring at her suspiciously. "Is this true?" one of them questioned Tristan.

He shook his head fiercely. "Of course it's not true!" he replied angrily. His blue eyes held hers firmly. "Stay out of this, Isabela,"

She wished she could. Staying out of things was usually her best survival skill. Good intentions got people killed. But she had just watched him willingly turn himself in to get a man he didn't even know out of trouble and – Maker help her – she couldn't just stand by and watch him be dragged away because of it.

_The last time you decided to let your morals get in the way of something, you ended up releasing over a hundred sovereigns worth of slaves and making an enemy out of one of the most formidable underground merchants in all of Thedas. _She reminded herself.

Damn her stupid conscience. It always seemed to pop up at the worst possible moments.

"I'm not willing to risk it," the second Templar decided. He grabbed her, roughly securing her arms behind her back in the same manner as his friend held Tristan. "You're coming with us," he declared, in a voice that suggested he'd captured her, as opposed to her willingly giving herself in.

Isabela rolled her eyes as he gave her a shove forwards, mentally listing the dozens of ways she could escape his grasp and have him unconscious on the ground before the hapless fool knew what was coming. Then she gave a loud, dramatic sigh and allowed him to lead her along with Tristan back to the gallows, resigning herself to her fate.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

_My eyes are painted red,_

_The canvas of my soul,_

_Is slowly breaking down again,_

_Today I heard the news,_

_The story's getting old,_

_When will we see the end?_

_-Alex Band, Only One_

Dead bodies – both Qunari and human – littered the dusty ground of Ser Varnell's Refuge. Abigail dropped to her knees beside one of the Qunari corpses, tears flooding her brilliant blue eyes. Tentatively she reached one hand out, brushing her fingertips across the one of the giant's eyes to close his lids. Pain wracked her body as she imagined the horror these proud creatures had been forced to suffer at Varnell's hands. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She had always been sensitive to the feelings and suffering of others, to a degree that she almost felt their pain as her own. Killing had never come naturally to her, and though she was more than capable of defending herself in a fight – as she had just proved to Ser Varnell – she almost always managed to seek out a diplomatic alternative when presented with a situation. Only this time had been different. Faced with what these men and woman had willingly done to these Qunari delegates, she had charged into battle with an almost reckless abandon. Now, in the aftermath of her bloodlust, she felt nothing but disgust.

An armored hand clasped her shoulder gently and she lifted her head, blinking back tears as she stared into Fenris's green eyes.

"It was necessary," he said softly.

She was startled by the gentleness of his tone.

"Why do people do these things?" she asked him brokenly.

"Not everyone is like you," he replied, suddenly unable to meet her eye. "You're different. You care about people,"

She wiped the tears away from her face and pushed herself to her feet, forcing herself not to look back at the dead bodies behind her. Fenris shifted his grip from her shoulder to her arm, and gently pulled her forwards, leading her back to where Aveline and Merrill waited. She glanced up at the elf's face as they walked, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips.

"Careful Fenris," she cautioned him teasingly. "If I didn't know any better I would think you actually cared about me,"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "You don't think I care about you?"

"I'm a mage," she replied, shrugging one shoulder. The smile faded from her lips. "I understand why you hate me,"

He stopped, pulling her around to face him. "I don't… You're not… You're not just…" he trailed off, shaking his head. She stared at him curiously, unable to recall a time before when she had ever seen him at a loss for words. Cursing softly beneath his breath, he began walking again, his gentle grasp on her arm still pulling her after him.

"Are you alright Hawke?" Merrill asked her as they approached, looking worried. Abby nodded her head wearily.

"I'll be fine Merrill." she glanced over at Aveline. "Has the Viscount left yet?"

The Guard Captain nodded her head. "Not too long ago. Maker… Things with the Qunari just keep going from bad to worse. I hope the Viscount can deal with this one,"

Abby sighed. "He can only try to maintain a semblance of balance. But it isn't going to last. People like Ser Varnell and Mother Petrice will eventually force the Arishok's hand," She massaged her temples between her forefinger and her thumb, wincing at the blinding headache that was beginning to form behind her eyes. "I need to get out of here,"

"I'll take you home," Fenris offered.

Abby nodded gratefully. They had taken only a few steps towards the doorway before the door was flung open and a guard came running into the Refuge. Abigail recognized him as Donnic, the stoic, dependable guard that she had rescued from an ambush three years before.

"Guardsman!" Aveline said in surprise, as he came to a skidding halt before her. His cheeks were flushed with exertion, and his breath came out in ragged pants. For a brief, irrelevant moment, Abby wondered how anyone could manage to run in such heavy armor.

"Captain…" he greeted her respectfully, still struggling to catch his breath. "I have a message for you from your friend Varric,"

Aveline's brow furrowed in annoyance. "He shouldn't be using you to do his bidding,"

"I wouldn't have done so ordinarily, but this time it's important. The man who cleared the side alley last night has been taken in by the Templars, along with your friend, Isabela. They're both being accused of being apostates,"

"Isabela an apostate?" Merrill giggled, as ever completely missing the seriousness of the situation.

"Tristan was arrested?" Abby demanded.

Donnic nodded his head helplessly, his dark brown eyes flickering between Hawke and the Captain.

"But he's not an apostate!" Abigail burst out angrily. "He's a Grey Warden! They can't do this! And as for Isabela…" She trailed off, shaking her head in fury. "It's ridiculous,"

"We should get to the gallows and find out what's going on. This could all be a mistake," Aveline offered.

Abby nodded her head. "It had better be a mistake. I'm not letting that bitch Meredith make a tranquil out of my cousin!"

…..

"Cullen!" Abigail yelled as she stormed into the gallows, with Aveline, Merrill and Fenris following hot on her heels. The Knight Captain glanced up warily as she approached, his expression growing grimmer with each step she took towards him. She strode straight up to him, glaring furiously up into his light brown eyes. Without thinking, she raised one hand and slammed her fist against the steel breastplate of his armor, pounding out her rage into the Templar embossed metal.

"Hawke…" Aveline said warningly.

"Where is he?" she snarled at Cullen.

His only reaction to her violent outburst was to raise one eyebrow in question. "I _beg _your pardon?"

"Hawke…" the Guard Captain repeated urgently.

Abigail continued to ignore her. "Don't play dumb with me you fool!" she told Cullen. "Tristan Amell! Your idiot Templars arrested him this afternoon along with one of my other friends! So where the hell is he?" she ranted, slamming her hand against his breastplate again.

"_Hawke_!" Aveline yelled.

Cullen's expression changed from one of irritation to genuine surprise. Hawke stepped back from him, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She glanced over briefly at Aveline, her blue eyes filled with silent apology.

_Keep your cool, Hawke, _she told herself. _Beating up the Knight Captain isn't going to help anyone, _

"Tristan Amell?" he repeated, his voice almost reverent. "The Hero of Ferelden? He's here?"

"He's been arrested," Abby growled.

"That's impossible," Cullen replied. "He's a Grey Warden. Our Templars have no jurisdiction to arrest him,"

"Try telling that to the Knight Commander," Aveline told him. "According to my men she's the reason that he was arrested,"

Cullen's brow furrowed as he considered her words. "Perhaps she doesn't know who he is. I should go speak to her…" Without waiting for a response he moved forwards, swiftly crossing the cobbled courtyard of the gallows towards the Templars quarters. Abigail ran to catch up with him, falling quickly into step beside him. He shot her a sidelong glance.

"How did I know you weren't just going to wait around for me to sort this out?" he asked, his voice a sigh.

"He's my cousin, Cullen. And Isabela is my best friend. I'm not going to wait around while they're in trouble,"

"Your cousin?" Cullen echoed in surprise. It took him a second longer to make the connection. "Of course… Amell. I should have realized sooner," he gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to him. You don't need to lose…" he trailed off, letting the sentence hang, but Abigail knew what he had been trying to say. She didn't need to lose another family member. It was only after Carver's death that she had found out that he had been planning to join the Templars after they returned from their Deep Roads expedition. Cullen had visited her house not long after his death, offering her and her mother his condolences. He hadn't had much chance to get to know Carver, but his empathy for his death had always touched Abigail.

"Thank you," she whispered.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, each lost to their own thoughts. The Knight Commander's office was empty, so Cullen led her instead to the small cobbled courtyard at the end of the short hallway. A small smirk tugged at Abby's lips at the sound of Isabela's angry voice carrying down the hall towards them. Several Templars stood inside the open courtyard, along with the Knight Commander, the Grand Cleric, Tristan and Isabela.

"This is ridiculous!" Isabela was protesting. "He is a Warden! You can't take him!"

"A Warden!" Meredith scoffed. "He is an apostate – and a dangerous one at that. If he refuses to co-operate then we will have no choice but to use the Rite of Tranquility to subdue him,"

"There's no need for that," Cullen interrupted, striding into the room. Abigail followed him quickly. The Knight Commander turned her brilliant blue eyes towards them as they walked in, her face shining with righteous fury.

"Knight Captain," she greeted him coolly. "I assume you have a good reason for interrupting us?"

Cullen nodded his head. "I do. I can vouch for this man. He is indeed a Grey Warden – The Hero of Ferelden, in fact,"

Doubt crept into Meredith's weathered features. "You're sure of this?"

"He was a mage in the Ferelden Circle at the same time that I was commissioned there," he glanced towards Tristan, meeting his gaze. "We were friends, of a sort. He's a good man,"

"And what about her?" the Knight Commander added, pointing a finger at Isabela.

"She's not even a mage," Cullen responded immediately. "You can let her go."

Meredith nodded her head. "I thought as much," she glanced at the Templar who held Isabela firmly in his grasp. "You may release her,"

"What about Tristan?" Abby demanded, moving into the courtyard. Tristan glanced over at her.

"Nice to see you again, Hawke," he greeted her, smiling charmingly at her. He seemed to be the only person in the entire courtyard who looked completely unconcerned by the entire situation.

"I have some questions for you Warden," Meredith told him. The smile slipped from Tristan's features, and he turned back to the Knight Commander, his expression cold.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," he replied stonily.

"I will not allow a mage to go running around my city…"

"I'm not a mage. I'm a Grey Warden Commander. My business is my own," he took a step closer to Meredith, confidence and authority radiating from him. The change in him was so sudden and dramatic that it took Abby's breath away. One moment he was the sweet, charming, handsome stranger she had met the previous night, and the next he was the powerful and imposing Grey Warden Commander who had slain the archdemon and defeated the fifth blight.

Meredith opened her mouth to argue his words, but fell silent as Grand Cleric Elthina rested a gentle hand upon her arm.

"The boy speaks the truth. He's a hero, not a criminal. We have no reason to hold him,"

Isabela walked forwards quickly, grabbed Tristan's wrist and tugged him forwards, her gold eyes bright with relief. "I think that's our cue to leave,"

He nodded his head distractedly, his blue eyes still holding Meredith's menacingly, before dropping his gaze and following after Isabela willingly as she led him from the courtyard. Abby fell into step beside them, her shoulders sagging in relief as they walked back down the hallway.

"Well…" Isabela said sarcastically. "That was fun,"

Abby glanced at her with a smile. "Thanks for looking after my cousin, Bela,"

The Rivaini pirate shrugged, glancing down awkwardly. "What was I supposed to do Hawke? He's too good-looking to let them make him tranquil. It would have been an utter waste,"

Abby chuckled loudly and Tristan rolled his eyes, giving Isabela a playful punch on her arm. "Well whatever your reasons, I'm glad you stuck around," he added.

"C'mon," Abby grabbed his other hand, giving it a tug. "Celebratory dinner at my house, Amell," she smiled at him good naturedly. "You owe me that much,"


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi guys… So sorry for the delay on this one. That work I've been warning you about finally piled up. Plus, I just couldn't seem to get this chapter right. I must have rewritten it about five times. Eventually I realised I _had _to submit something and just get on with the story. Hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks so much for the reviews. You really make my day. :) _

**Chapter 8**

_Thoughts ran unspoken,_

_Forever in vow,_

_And pieces of memories fall to the ground,_

_I know what I didn't have so,_

_I won't let this go,_

_Cus it's true, I am nothing without you._

_All the streets where I walked alone,_

_With nowhere to go,_

_I've come to an end._

_I want you to know, _

_With everything I won't let this go,_

_These words are my heart and soul,_

_I'll hold onto this moment you know, _

_Cus I'd bleed my heart out to show,_

_And I won't let go._

_-Sum 41, With Me._

Three sharp knocks on her cabin door jolted Parish sharply awake. She sat up, staring dazedly around the small room that she and Luke shared, startled to find that the cabin was doused with murky shadows. She glanced out of the small, round window beside her bed, her eyes widening as she realised that it was well after dusk. She had only meant to have a short afternoon nap, something to help combat the wearying effects of her drunken adventure with Tristan the night before. Instead, she had ended up sleeping the rest of her day away. There was another impatient knock at her door, followed by Tristan's voice calling her.

"Maker Parish! Open your damn door! I know you're in there,"

"I'm coming," she called back, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. She stumbled out of her bed, staggered to the door and tugged it open. Tristan frowned at her.

"You weren't sleeping were you?" he demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he strode into her cabin, seating himself down on the edge of her rumpled bed. With a flick of his fingers he quickly lit the single lantern that hung from the ceiling, chasing away the encroaching shadows with warm, golden light. Sonja closed her door again and turned back to him, yawning again.

"So what if I was?"

He shook his head. "I don't really care," he snapped. His blue eyes met hers and Parish suddenly realised that he looked… well, nervous. His entire body was tense, stiff, and his eyes were wide with the faintest traces of panic. For a moment it was all she could do not to gape at him. Tristan was _never_ nervous. It just wasn't in him. He was too damn self-assured and confident to doubt himself.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she whispered, walking closer to him. "Is it _her_? Is it Umbra?"

The Warden Commander shook his head quickly. "No… No it's nothing like that. It's just…" he trailed off, sighing. "Would you do me a favour?"

_Anything_, she thought. Instead she replied, "Well that depends… I'm not going to kill someone for you Tristan Amell," she teased.

He grinned, his usual good humour quickly reasserting itself. "You wouldn't?" he placed a hand over his heart. "Ouch, Parish. That hurt. You know I'd kill someone for you,"

"Yea, right," she rolled her eyes, determinedly ignoring the fluttering in her stomach at his words. Suddenly she froze, catching sight of the silver staff that was strapped against Tristan's back.

"What are you doing with that?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she had intended it to be. Tristan half turned his head, glancing back at his staff. When he turned back to her, his expression one of long suffering.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, exasperated. "I'm taking it with me,"

"No you're not," she replied sharply. "You might as well hang a sign around your neck saying 'apostate'. Put it back,"

Tristan shook his head, rolling his eyes. "What's the point? The Templars already know…" he clamped his jaw shut suddenly, swallowing his words as he caught sight of the blazing anger in her steel grey eyes.

"What exactly do the Templars know?" she asked, her voice growing low and silky in her anger. Tristan stood up, taking a step towards the door, one hand held up defensively in front of him.

"Parish… calm down. Don't start yelling at me or anything… This wasn't my fault, okay?"

"Tristan," she said warningly, taking a step towards him.

"I might have had a small run in with the Knight Commander today," he said quickly, wincing at her expression. "But it's fine… She understands…We're practically best friends now,"

A bolt of fear ripped through her, squeezing at her lungs until it was almost impossible to breathe. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't telling her everything. He was dulling it down, making it seem less than what it was. Sonja wasn't easily fooled. She held out her hand towards his staff expectantly.

"Give it to me," she commanded, her voice still a low, dangerous version of what it usually was. She was more than angry, she was livid. But her anger wasn't directed at Tristan. It was aimed straight at the Rivaini slut who had stolen him away that afternoon.

_The bitch probably was the reason he got caught,_ she thought furiously. _I should never have left him alone with her,_

"I'm not giving you my staff," Tristan shook his head. "Get your own,"

"Very funny," she replied, not amused in the slightest. "Now give it here. I don't trust you with that thing,"

"Too bad," he replied, grinning at her.

"I'm not letting you walk out of here with it," Parish replied determinedly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Tristan taunted.

She placed her hands on her hips, glowering at him. _Maker, _she thought angrily, _why is it so hard to get him to take this seriously?_ "What is it going to take for you to leave that staff behind?"

The Warden Commander's grin widened. "Ah-hah… And so we return to that favour I was asking you about…"

Sonja sighed. "What do you want from me, Amell?" she asked, the barest hint of desperation in her voice. At that moment she would be willing to do just about anything to keep him from running out into that city with his staff strapped to his back.

The nervousness was suddenly back. He shifted from foot to foot. "Come with me tonight," he said quietly.

She raised her brows in surprise. Tristan was asking her to come with him? This was a first. Usually she was the one doggedly following after him despite his protestations. "Where are you going?" she asked.

_Please, no more alcohol. I can't get drunk again. Luke will never let me live it down, _she silently moaned.

"It seems I still have some family in Kirkwall after all," Tristan said softly. "They invited me to dinner tonight. Only…" he sighed, shifted again, his blue eyes looking anywhere but her face. "Only I would really prefer not to have to go alone," he admitted.

Unable to resist, Sonja took a step towards him, gently touching his arm. "They're going to like you," she whispered, suddenly understanding the source of his fear. "They'd be fools not too,"

Tristan raked a hand back through his hair, turning away from her with a ragged sigh. "I already had one family give up on me, Parish. It's not too much of a stretch to think that this one might not like me either,"

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. He glanced back at her. "So, will you come with me?"

"Of course," she whispered.

"Good," he murmured, relief flickering across his face. He squeezed her hand gratefully. "You're a good friend Parish. Even if you won't kill someone for me," he added, winking. Sonja stepped back, tugging her hand free while trying desperately to regain some control over her emotions.

"Let's go," she said, smiling back at him. "We wouldn't want to keep your family waiting,"

…

It was her first experience of Hightown. Sonja walked slowly, her eyes wandering appreciatively over the high stone buildings that rose up on either side of the cobbled road they walked upon. Darkness had only just settled upon Kirkwall, and already the streets were almost deserted, nothing like Orlais – Sonja mused. There, the streets were crowded with brightly dressed nobles and merchants until well after midnight. Kirkwall felt cold and empty in comparison. Still, Hightown was pretty enough, with its terraced gardens and white walled architecture. Parish glanced back at Tristan as they walked, scanning the emotions in his usually composed features. He too was glancing around, his blue eyes flickering curiously over each and every building they passed. He was still nervous; she could see it in the tight set of his lips, the stiffness of his back, the way his fingers unconsciously flexed into fists at his sides. She knew him well enough to understand the emotions running through him at that moment. As much as he coveted a real family, he wasn't willing to let himself get hurt again. Sensing her gaze, he turned his head towards her and smiled.

"It's not too late to back out," he offered. "We could go and get you drunk again instead. That was fun,"

Parish rolled her eyes. "For you maybe. I swear you get a kick out of embarrassing me,"

Tristan shook his head. "I just love hearing you belt out those old pirate ditties,"

"I do not!" she cried, affronted.

"Yea, you do," he said, smirking. "And let me tell you, whoever told you that you can sing should be horse whipped,"

She punched his shoulder angrily. "Well what do you expect? The only times you've heard me sing is when I'm pissed drunk,"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "You're telling me you actually can sing when you're sober?"

Parish blushed. "Well, no…" she admitted slowly. "But that's not the point!"

"What's the point then?"

"The point is…" she faltered, her grey eyes flickering across the open square they had wandered into as she fumbled for a scathing retort. "Hey!" she exclaimed, suddenly distracted. "I think that's it! That's your family crest, isn't it?"

Tristan whirled around, his body stiffening as he stared across the square. "Yes," he said, his voice so soft she could scarcely hear him. "Yes that's it,"

It looked almost no different from any other estate in Hightown. It too, was made of the same white stone, had the same sheltered doorway and the same manicured shrubbery as any of the other noblemen's houses. The one, unique difference was the twin set of shields that rested on either side of the door, proudly displaying the Amell Crest. Sonja only recognized the crest because Tristan had it embossed on the steel breastplate of his Warden Commander armour. Considering she had only seen him in his Warden armour a grand total of two or three times, Parish considered having recognized the symbol as something of an accomplishment. She trailed after him as he strode towards the house, craning her head back to fully gauge the size of it. These Free-Marchers had an obsession with building straight up, as opposed to extending their buildings out the sides. The sharp rap of Tristan's knuckles against the wooden door jolted her attention back to him. He took a step back from the doorway.

"This is it I guess," he murmured, momentary apprehension flitting across his face. Seconds seemed to pass like hours in the lonely square as they waited. Eventually, a sandy-haired young dwarf opened the door and stared at them, blinking owlishly.

"Enchantment?" he offered, tilting his head slightly back to stare up at their bemused faces.

"Sandal!" Tristan dropped to his knees before the dwarf, enveloping him in a fierce hug.

"Hero," the boy answered happily, a grin spreading across his innocent features.

"This wouldn't be _the_ Sandal, would it?" Sonja asked, watching the pair curiously. Tristan drew back and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately before rising to his feet.

"The same one," he answered with a wry smile.

As Tristan told it, he had found the boy alone in Fort Drakon during the final battle against the arch demon, surrounded by dead darkspawn corpses. No one had a clue how the young dwarf had destroyed so many of the tainted beasts, but at the time, Tristan hadn't cared. He had wasted an extra hour in the fort, trying to hide the child away before allowing his companions to proceed. Sonja could still remember Alistair's voice in her head as he explained how Tristan had literally had to drag the boy out of the room, fending off darkspawn all the while, refusing to leave him until he was certain he was safe.

"Sandal? Is someone at the door?" a soft, feminine voice called out. Footsteps approached and seconds later a tall, steel-haired woman with Tristan's blue eyes appeared at the doorway. This had to be Leandra. Parish held her breath, glancing over at Tristan to gauge his expression. He was still smiling, albeit nervously now.

"Can I help you?" Leandra asked, glancing between the pair of them. "Abigail isn't here at the moment," she added.

"I… um…" Tristan cleared his throat. "Abby didn't tell you, did she?"

Leandra arched one brow questioningly and shook her head. "What has my daughter done this time?" she asked, a note of weariness in her voice.

"I…" Tristan took a breath, obviously trying to steel himself. "Perhaps I should introduce myself," he said softly. "My name is Tristan Amell,"

Leandra's blue eyes widened impossibly. "Tristan?" she repeated in surprise. "Dear Andraste," She stepped closer to him, one hand reaching out to gently touch his face. He closed his eyes at the light touch.

"I should have seen known," she whispered. "You're the splitting image of your mother,"

When the Warden Commander's eyes opened again, they were filled with a world of pain. Sonja wondered if he could even remember his mother's face. He had been so young when they had taken him to the circle.

"Come," Leandra said quickly, holding the door open wide. "Come inside. This is as much your home as it is mine," she took his hand in hers and pulled him forwards. "I want to hear everything about you," she added, her voice filled with eagerness. "I can't believe Abby didn't let me know you were coming,"

"Perhaps she was hoping it would be a surprise," Parish offered.

Leandra turned towards her curiously and Tristan cleared his throat, flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh! This is my friend Parish," he said quickly, shooting an apologetic glance at her.

"Pleased to meet you," Leandra said warmly, before turning her attention completely back to Tristan. "Bohdan was just setting up for dinner. I'll go and tell him to set two extra places. Make yourselves at home," she added.

Tristan took a tentative step inside the estate as Leandra quickly disappeared inside again. Parish followed after him, closing the door shut behind her. Sandal hovered at their feet, occasionally shooting admiring glances up at Tristan's face.

"Maker," Tristan breathed, as they walked through the front hall and into the grand entrance hall of the estate. "How is it possible for something to look the same and yet totally different all at once?"

"It's been a long time," Sonja said gently.

He nodded, his blue eyes still flickering restlessly around the room.

"It was never really my parents' home," he admitted softly. "My mother's parents died when she was young, so she lived with her aunt and uncle here for most of her life. She met my father in Kirkwall, but his family was of lesser blood than hers, barely a nobleman even, so he took on the Amell name when they married. They lived here until I was taken to the circle. After that they moved away. Still… this was the only home I've ever known, the only place that's ever felt real to me,"

Parish stilled as he spoke. This was the most he had ever spoken about himself at one time. He scarcely seemed aware that he was even speaking.

"I had already left Kirkwall when they took you away," Leandra's voice spoke up suddenly. Sonja turned, startled to find that the she had reappeared in the room without either of them noticing. "But your mother wrote me to tell me what had happened," she shook her head, her eyes filled with regret. "I swore I would never allow that to happen to my own children,"

"You're a better mother than mine was," Tristan commented dryly.

"She was misguided," Leandra moved across to him as she spoke, gently laying her hand over his arm. "My parents always had more success convincing _her_ about the dangers of the magic than they did me. But no matter her short comings – she loved you dearly. I know that,"

"Loved?" Tristan echoed. "What happened to her?"

Leandra suddenly shifted uncomfortably, her gaze sliding away from his. "I don't know," she answered uneasily. "We lost touch,"

_Liar_, Sonja thought, shooting a quick glance at Tristan to determine if he had picked up on it too. His features were inscrutable.

"Something smells wonderful," he commented, forcing a smile.

Leandra nodded quickly, relief spreading across her weathered face. "Dinner is almost served. Come," she took his hand in hers again. "We'll eat in the dining hall,"

Sonja followed after them as they led the way through the estate, her mind in a whirl. Tristan of all people should have seen how uneasy she had become when he questioned her about his family. She had never met anyone who was as apt at reading people as Tristan was. And yet... And yet he had _deliberately _changed the subject. Almost as if he didn't want to know. Almost as if he preferred ignoring the truth. A knot of worry twisted her stomach as she wondered just how much of his pain the Warden Commander had chosen to hide beneath his feigned ignorance. She kept her thoughts to herself throughout dinner, content simply to watch the pair of them in silence. Tristan was slowly relaxing in Leandra's company, his teasing, good-natured manner slowly bubbling up throughout the course of dinner. Abigail was a complete no-show, but neither Tristan nor Leandra seemed to care. In fact, Sonja strongly suspected that they had completely forgotten she was even supposed to be coming until the sound of the front door crashing open reminded them. They both fell silent as footsteps and voices filled the front hall of the estate.

"Get in here Aveline!" an angry voice snarled. "You're going to explain to Tristan why I'm late!"

Sonja cast a glance at Tristan, catching the amused smile on his face. He caught her eye and mouthed 'that's Abby'.

"You're being unreasonable Hawke," a second voice sighed wearily. "How is any of this my fault?"

"I told you, _I told you_ that I only had a couple of hours before he was coming over. And yet you insisted I help you with that raid on the Wounded Coast. _Fenris_!" Abby suddenly yelled. "Where the hell have you been? You left us out there!"

"If you think about it, this was all _his_ fault really," a third, all-too-familiar voice broke in. It took Sonja a few moments to realise that the voice belonged to the Rivaini she had met that day – Isabela. "If it wasn't for Fenris, we wouldn't have gotten caught up with those Tevinter Mages,"

"I can't be held responsible for the actions of those mages," another, masculine voice growled.

"Yes you can," Abby said defiantly. "I need a scapegoat. Fenris, Aveline, you're coming with me. Isabela…" Abby sighed, the anger ebbing from her voice. "Thank you for your help. I'll see you tomorrow,"

"Can't I stay?" the pirate pleaded. "I'll help you pin the guilt on those two,"

"Hey!" Aveline's voice protested.

"Fine," Abby snapped. "But please – for the Maker's sake – keep your hands off of Tristan. I'm warning you Isabela. He's not a plaything for your amusement,"

There was a moment's silence in which Tristan smirked, Leandra blushed, and Sonja glowered.

Then, "Don't give me that look," Abby added. "I taught you that wide-eyed innocent stare, remember?"

"Can we get this over with?"Aveline's voice asked impatiently. "I need to get back to the barracks,"

Footsteps approached, their heavy boots loud against the marbled floor. Seconds later a raven-haired girl appeared at the doorway to the dining hall, her golden-tanned skin flushed with anger. Even through the layer of dirt and blood that caked her face, Parish could see the similarities between her and Tristan were striking.

"Evening mother," the girl smiled sweetly, her innocent, cheerful voice at complete odds with the scathing tone she had carried mere moments before. Her eyes flickered to Tristan and widened. "Tristan!" she gasped. "You're here already!" she placed a delicate hand against her lips. "Maker, please tell me I'm not late!"

The act would have seemed completely genuine, Sonja mused, had they not heard her raging on about how very late she was mere moments before. It seemed Abby was as good a liar as her cousin.

Tristan chuckled in amusement. "Yes Abby, you're late. Would you like to call in your scapegoats now so they can explain what happened?"

"Damn," Abby muttered, the smile slipping from her features. "I always forget how sound carries in this place,"

"Darling," Leandra said quickly. "Perhaps you'd like to explain how you could _forget _to tell me Tristan was coming?"

"It was meant to be a surprise," Abby took a seat at the opposite end of the table, sighing. "I didn't realise I wasn't going to get back here in time,"

"Good evening Aveline," Leandra added warmly, her eyes flickering past her daughter's face. Glancing back towards the doorway, Sonja caught sight of Abigail's three companions. Isabela wasted no time in slipping into the room and taking a seat next to Abby, but the other two stood stiff and motionless, clearly desperate to be somewhere else.

"Evening Leandra. Allow me to apologize for your daughter's lateness. I'm afraid I was partly to blame," as Aveline spoke she drove an armoured elbow into the ribs of the white-haired elf that stood beside her. He grimaced, shooting her a glare.

"I was also to blame," he added sullenly, though from his expression he obviously didn't believe this to be true.

"Thank you," Abby smiled sweetly at them. "You welcome to leave now,"

Both Guard Captain and elf had disappeared scarcely before Abigail had finished her sentence. She turned back to her Tristan, biting her bottom lip nervously. "I'm really sorry Tristan," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine regret this time.

He shook his head, still smiling warmly. "Forgiven," he assured her.

"I haven't scared you off have I?" she asked meekly. "You're not going to go running out that door the first opportunity you get?"

He chuckled. "On the contrary," he assured her. "I think you're going to have trouble getting me to ever leave,"


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hey guys… Sorry for the delay. Was a little hard to get this one out. This chapter and the one that comes after it are more or less fillers. I told you I was trying to get past Act 2, and unfortunately it's taking a little longer than I had hoped. But no matter. Things will get going soon enough ;). Thanks for all the reviews and alerts guys. You're awesome._

**Chapter 9**

_Release myself from holding back,_

_I realize now my world's not flat,_

_An open mind, an open court,_

_Open runways, open the doors,_

_So deep, so dear._

_So much to do, so little time,_

_I think this just might blow my mind,_

_I hope there's nothing overlooked,_

_Cause I just want to shout out loud._

_-Prime Circle, Hello._

His old Hightown estate was nothing like he had remembered it. There were changes everywhere. What had once been his old nursery was now a study. His older brother's room now belonged to Abby. The vivid green and blue Antivan carpet which had once dominated the front entrance hall had been replaced by a plush vibrant red one. Everywhere he looked was an inconsistency, but after a week spent getting to know Abigail Hawke and her mother, and visiting what was now their house, he was used to the changes. Things felt familiar again. Slowly, Tristan Amell was starting to feel at home. Leandra Hawke had accepted him instantly into her family, taking him on as a sort of adopted son, fussing around him in much the same way as a mother hen does one of its chicks. She lamented that he, like Abigail, was an 'adventurous spirit' and had vowed to have them both married to respectable noble partners by the end of the month.

"Don't look at your feet!" Abigail hissed at him.

Tristan snapped his head up, smiling ruefully at his cousin. They stepped apart, danced a circle around each other, stepped close again and Tristan took her back in his arms.

"This is ridiculous," he sighed, risking another quick glance at his feet to ensure that he was taking the correct steps. Abby grinned.

"If you're going to attend a noble ball, you have to know how to dance Tristan," she told him. "How else will you convince some nobleman's daughter to marry you?"

"I don't want to get married!" he muttered.

Abigail laughed. "No one ever said you had a choice," she added, winking.

"Very good, very good," their Orlesian dance instructor called out to them, from where he stood in front of the fireplace. He clapped his hands. "Now spin!"

Obediently Tristan spun Abigail away from him, and then spun her back again. The skirts of her purple gown flared around her as she twirled. She looked utterly beautiful, dressed in an elegant off-the-shoulder vivid violet gown that clung to her body until it reached her thighs where it flared out around her. The colour offset her brilliant blue eyes, which served to intensify their striking colour. Tristan had been dressed in polished, knee-high black boots, white breeches and a tailored doublet that fit him snugly. The doublet was navy blue and was detailed with fine silver embroidery – it was possibly the most expensive item of clothing he had ever owned.

"You two look amazing!" Leandra gasped, walking down the staircase and into the front hall of the mansion where the pair was practicing. She pressed a hand to her lips, her blue eyes filling with tears of happiness. "Finally! We look like a family of real nobles again,"

"Your daughter is going to dazzle those noblemen," Tristan told her, smiling at Abby warmly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she leaves tonight with a dozen marriage proposals at least,"

Actually, he would be shocked if the night ended with even one marriage proposal for his cousin. Especially since they weren't actually planning on attending the ball. While Leandra believed they were attending the annual Kirkwall nobleman's ball, they were instead going to be checking out a certain Hightown mansion owned by a man named Gascard DuPuis. According to Abigail, the man was a suspect in a series of women's disappearances. They had hidden their staffs and a change of clothing outside the estate and now it was only a case of waiting for Aveline, Anders and Isabela to arrive so that they could leave.

"That would be wonderful!" Leandra sighed with happiness. She moved into the room, watching them with misty-eyed happiness. "What a wonderful couple the pair of you make,"

Abigail stiffened, her eyes widening. "What did you say?"

Leandra hummed thoughtfully. "I've been thinking…Why don't the two of you get married? It would be far simpler,"

"What?" Tristan jerked back, releasing Abigail as though burned. Hawke stumbled backwards, staring back at him in horror.

"Maker no… No, no, no." She shook her head, staring back at her mother in disbelief. "Please tell me you are joking?"

Leandra smiled at them. "Why not?"

"She's my cousin," Tristan stated flatly.

"It would be wrong." Abby added, shuddering.

"She's your second cousin, darling," Leandra told Tristan gently. "When you think about it, you're not that closely related. And besides, cousins get married all the time. It strengthens the bloodlines in noble families."

"Mother, stop!" Abigail begged, holding one hand up desperately. "I already consider Tristan as another sibling,"

Tristan nodded his head vigorously. "Agreed. Abigail is like the little sister I never had,"

Leandra sighed again. "Fine, fine. It was just a thought," she raised her hand, motioning for them to move closer again. "Carry on. Tristan needs as much practice as he can get," she walked over to the dance instructor's side to watch them.

"Please tell me that did not just happen," Abby whispered, as they began to dance again.

Tristan chuckled softly. "I think I might be scarred for life,"

A peal of loud, delighted laughter distracted them and both mages whipped their heads around to stare at the doorway. Isabela and Anders stood just inside the hall. Isabela was laughing, Anders was smirking. Aveline was nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell is Aveline?" Abby hissed at them.

Isabela shrugged. "She's on her way. Anders and I decided to come early and watch the show,"

"You think this is funny?" Tristan demanded, a tad irritably. He was still struggling to keep himself from stepping on Abigail's feet. Isabela nodded her head, still shaking with laughter. Blue eyes narrowed, Tristan released Abby, stepped closer to the pirate and grabbed her hand.

"No, Tristan!" Isabela laughed, as he drew her into his arms. She stared up at him in panic. "I don't dance," she protested.

"You're doing fine," he murmured. A mischievous grin lit his features and he shifted his grip on her hand, spinning her away from him. Isabela yelped, tripped over her own feet and fell backwards, dragging Tristan down with her. They both collapsed in a heap on the polished marble floor, giggling helplessly.

"What in the Maker's name was that?" the dance instructor demanded in outrage. He clapped his hands together impatiently. "Again! Again! No falling this time!"

"Sorry I'm late Hawke…" Aveline's voice came from somewhere above them. "Maker! What happened to _them_?"

Tristan rolled onto his back, still laughing uncontrollably. "Hi Aveline, care for a dance?"

The Guard Captain shook her head quickly. "I'd really rather not, thank you. It looks somewhat dangerous,"

Isabela pushed herself to her feet and offered Tristan a hand up. "With Tristan it is," she said ruefully, still smiling.

Anders grinned. "That was probably the reason he never got a dance at Winter Solstice Mage's Ball,"

"The Circle had balls?" Abby asked curiously, turning towards Anders.

"Just one," the blonde mage replied. "They tried it out one year, but as I recall, the Knight Commander banned any future dances after that,"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "You're one to talk Anders. You never got a dance either that night. I remember because neither of us actually attended the ball. While everyone else was dancing you, me and Surana were scaling down the tower walls. That's why Greogoir banned any future dances. He claimed it distracted the Templars from their duties,"

"You mean you once tried to escape?" Leandra moved towards them, her eyes filled with pity.

Anders laughed. "Once?" he repeated incredulously. "I think Tristan may actually be the only person in the tower who's had almost as many escape attempts as I did,"

Leandra looked horrified. "How awful," she murmured.

Tristan gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. It all worked out for the best,"

"Exactly," Anders interjected. "Now that you're free of the circle you can attend as many dances as you want,"

"Maker, that reminds me! You two have to get going!" Leandra gasped, glancing at the window to gauge how late it was. She dusted Tristan's doublet off with motherly affection. "Honestly Tristan! I'd forgotten how unruly boys could be," she complained. She gave him a slight shove towards the entrance way. "Go on! You're going to be late! You'll make sure they get there safely, won't you Aveline?"

Aveline looked a little uncomfortable. She wasn't nearly as proficient a liar as he and Abigail were.

"I… uhh… of course. Of course I will, Leandra,"

She glared at Tristan, jerking her head towards the door in a let's-get-out-of-here-now motion. Abby took the hint.

"Goodnight then mother," she said sweetly. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up!"

"Goodnight my darlings," Leandra replied happily. "And good luck!"

Tristan heaved a sigh of relief as they stepped out into the brisk night air.

"Finally," he muttered, shrugging off the expensive embroidered doublet that Leandra had had tailored for him. He turned to watch as Abigail withdrew their staffs and their clothes from where she had hidden them beneath a cart just outside the front door of her estate. She tossed Tristan his staff and he caught it deftly.

"Where are we getting changed?" she asked, her fingers playing with the seam of her dress. "I need to get out of this thing,"

"We can use Fenris's mansion," Isabela suggested. "It's close enough,"

"Good idea," Abby nodded in approval. "Let's go,"

She led the way through the deserted streets of Hightown and Tristan trailed just behind her, glancing around with interest as they walked. The Amell estate was situated in the Hightown square, a stone's throw away from the pale stone steps that led into the Viscount's Keep. They crossed through the Chantry Courtyard and took the staircase up to the Hightown Estates. Fenris's mansion was next door to the DuPuis Estate. After a few, incessant knocks, elf opened the door for them, and the five of them slipped inside his entrance hall.

Aveline nudged the remains of a broken flower pot with her boot. "And I wonder why the rest of the nobles aren't happy with you living here," she sighed. "Can't you present yourself better Fenris?"

"This way," Isabela said, as the elf and the Guard Captain began to argue. She led them through the entrance hall and up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Tristan took the guestroom on the left, while Isabela and Abby slipped into the rightmost bed chamber to change. Ten minutes later they were all outside once more, staring across at the door to the DuPreis Estate.

"I feel a little bad for the poor guy," Tristan sighed. "I mean, for all we know he could be an ordinary old citizen. How certain is this Emeric about any of this?"

"It's just a hunch, I guess," Abby admitted. "But there's no harm in checking him out,"

Tristan glanced back towards the house, his brows furrowing as he considered it. It looked much like any other Hightown estate; built from heavy white stone and flowing seamlessly into the buildings around it. The entrance was hidden in the alcove of two large pillars and shrouded on either side by a tall conifer tree. His gaze travelled higher, scanning the shuttered windows above for any sign of life. The place appeared to be empty.

"Come on," Abby gestured impatiently towards the doorway. "Let's get this over with," she strode towards the reinforced wooden door, pushing against it experimentally. "Locked," she sighed. "Isabela?"

The pirate smirked. "You mean you can't open that? I could have that door open in less than five seconds,"

"Impossible," Aveline growled, crossing her arms disbelievingly across her chest. "No one is that fast,"

"Care to wager on that?" Isabela asked impishly. The Guard Captain's brows furrowed as she waged an internal battle with herself. Her moral side was no doubt screaming at her that gambling was wrong, while the rest of her would love nothing more than a chance to beat the pirate captain at anything.

"Fine," she said eventually, still glaring. "I'll give you till the count of three to get yourself ready. If that door is not open five seconds after I finish counting, you owe me a sovereign,"

"Done," Isabela replied instantly. She sidled a little closer to Tristan.

"One…" Aveline counted slowly, watching her with undisguised suspicion.

"Say Amell, do you know that spell which bashes into stuff?" Isabela murmured to him. He nodded his head.

"A golem's fist?"

"Two…"

"Yea, that,"

"What about it?"

"Three!"

Isabela pointed to the door. "Cast one there," she ordered.

Without thinking, he shot a glance towards the door, shattering it into mere splinters of wood with nothing more than a flick of his fingers. Abigail froze, her blue eyes growing impossibly wide as she stared.

"Dear burning Andraste…" she hissed. "That was… impressive,"

Isabela smirked. "Door's open," she said cheerfully.

"Cheating pirate whore," Aveline muttered in disgust, handing over the sovereign.

Tristan sighed, annoyed with himself for – as Wynne had always called it – casting before thinking.

"A city full of Templars and you have me using my magic for your amusements," he grumbled to Isabela. "Just so we're clear, when they make me Tranquil, I'm blaming you,"

"Hey!" she cried, looking deeply affronted. "Who came to your rescue last week?"

"Uhh… Cullen?" he offered, biting back his grin.

The pirate stamped on his foot with one booted foot. "Me, you goose!" she snapped, looking even more irritated when the Warden Commander did not wince in pain at her assault, but continued to smirk at her.

"Come on you two," Abby sighed, picking her way delicately over the shattered remains of the door. "It's time to have a little chat with our man DuPreis,"

"Oh sure," Tristan grumbled sarcastically, following after his cousin. "We're going to _chat_ with him. That's why all six of us are brandishing weapons," he groaned. "Do you think they can still arrest us for breaking and entering if we have the Guard Captain aiding and abetting us?"

The red-head scowled at him. "I'm not above the law, you know,"

"Quiet!" Anders hissed. "I think I heard something,"

They paused just within the front entrance of the estate, glancing around uncertainly into the shadows.

"We'll split up," Abby said quietly. "Isabela, Aveline and I will go one way, Fenris, Anders, you guys go with Tristan. Scout around, meet back here when you're done,"

They split off, each group taking a different door. Tristan led the way up a flight of stairs, arriving in what looked to be a library of sorts. He had barely taken two steps inside the room when a rage demon burst out of the floor in a wave of fire.

"Demons!" Anders yelled, pulling his staff free. Within seconds the room was swamped with shades. Fenris lunged unhesitatingly into the fray, leaving Anders and Tristan to back him up from behind. Grabbing his staff, Tristan quickly sent a chain lightning flying into their midst. He froze the remainder with an ice spell.

"Is it just me?" Anders muttered. "Or have your spells seriously improved since the circle?"

"I picked up quite a bit during the blight," Tristan shrugged. "I had to," he glanced at Fenris. "You okay?"

The elf nodded. "If this man is summoning demons to his aid, then he's obviously not quite as innocent as you thought," he pointed out.

Tristan shrugged his shoulders, grinning. "If I had silver for every time someone turned into a demon summoning psychopath…" he joked, leading the way back out of the room. "Let's find the girls and make sure they're okay,"

They continued forwards rather than retracing their steps, occasionally pausing to investigate a room or clear out another group of demons. The house was flooded with them. Still, they had no sign of Abby, Aveline and Isabela. Tristan was about to suggest they head back to the front entrance of the house, when he suddenly heard the sound of soft, whimpering sobs coming from the within the room ahead. He motioned for silence and they moved cautiously forwards. He pressed one hand against the door, surprised when it swung easily open. A tall, sandy-haired man towered over a cowering woman. From the look of his clothes, Tristan gathered this must be the nobleman they were looking for.

"DuPuis I presume?" Tristan called, striding inside the room. The woman stared up at him, her tear-filled eyes brimming with hope.

"But you're not… I know what this looks like!" DuPuis said quickly. "I can explain!"

"He hurt me!" the woman sobbed. Gascard turned on her impatiently.

"I told you, I only took a little of your blood. I'm trying to protect you!"

"Get away from me!" she cried. Pushing herself to her feet, she hurriedly stumbled from the room.

"Follow her," Tristan told Anders quietly. "Make sure she's okay, and try getting some answers out of her,"

Nodding, the blonde mage quickly exited the room after her.

"I can explain," Gascard repeated, a little desperately.

"He'll say anything to save his skin," Fenris growled. "Kill him and be done with it. He's a blood mage,"

Tristan grimaced. He almost agreed with the elf. If there was one thing he abhorred, it was blood magic. He could already feel his magic hissing inside of him, ready to be unleashed upon the cowering nobleman.

"No," he said quietly, shaking his head. "We'll wait for Abby. Let her decide,"

…..

"Do you think we made a mistake?" Abigail asked softly.

Tristan lifted his eyes wearily to meet his cousin's gaze. The same question had been whirling around and around his head ever since they left the DuPuis Estate. Either Gascard had been telling them the truth, or he was a particularly gifted story teller. Abigail had taken him on his word and let him go, but Tristan wasn't so sure. Innocent men didn't summon demons and kidnap women. He drummed his fingertips against the hard wood of the table he sat at, his eyes wandering around the worn tavern as he considered what they had discovered that night. He, Abby and Isabela had decided to end the night off on a round of drinks at the Hanged Man, leaving Aveline, Fenris and Anders to their own whims back in Hightown.

"I still think we should have gotten rid of him, just to be sure," Isabela muttered, echoing Tristan's own sentiments. "The man had demons guarding his house like mabari. That's not normal,"

Abby massaged her temples with her fingertips, sighing. "We can't just kill people for not being normal. We'd be knee deep in blood if we did that,"

"Agreed," Tristan replied, his lips twisting into a small smile. "Look, it's done now. There's no use worrying about it. We know where he is should we need to find him again," he lifted his hand up, ordering another round of drinks for the table. He wasn't sure how much watered down ale they had already consumed that night, but it certainly hadn't been enough to lift their collectively sombre moods.

A barmaid approached them, giving Tristan a beaming smile as she set the jug down on the worn wooden table. He managed a feeble smile in return for the sake of politeness, and she blushed.

"Allow me to refill your mug, Messere," she offered, leaning forwards before he could object and offering him a generous view of her bosom. His eyes remained steadily on her face, still keeping his polite smile in place. Years of woman throwing themselves at him had left Tristan almost immune to even the most lewd of advances.

"I think you have another admirer," Isabela remarked, winking at Tristan.

He groaned, shaking his head. "I'll pass,"

"I'm starting to worry about you," the pirate said, narrowing her golden brown eyes at him. "The last thing we need is another Sebastian,"

Tristan rolled his eyes to the ceiling, grimacing. "Trust me – I'm not Sebastian. I just don't want her,"

"Then who do you want?" Abby asked curiously, resting her chin in her palm as she stared at him.

_Who do I want?_ He silently sighed. He lifted his hand, idly toying with the amulet that hung around his neck. Between the blight, rebuilding the Grey Wardens, and now Umbra, he hadn't had a chance to think about any sort of romance for a long time. Sure there had been flings, casual love affairs and one night stands, but never anything more serious than that. A part of him was terrified of the idea of love, of finding someone that he couldn't bear to lose. His life was easier without unnecessary attachments.

"Who do I want?" he repeated, glancing back to Abby. He hummed thoughtfully. "Meredith." he said eventually, smirking at the very idea.

"That might be a little difficult to arrange, sweet thing," Isabela chuckled. "Although, there is a very talented woman at the Blooming Rose who looks remarkably like her…"

Abby choked on her ale, her face growing red.

"Please tell me you haven't…?" she trailed off, staring at her best friend in horror.

Isabela laughed even harder. "Maker, no," she reassured her. "The last thing I would ever want to find in my bed is the Knight Commander – look alike or not,"

"The Blooming Rose?" Tristan asked, glancing between the girls.

Isabela's eyes snapped up to his. "Kirkwall's finest," she said with a smirk. "Our local whorehouse,"

Tristan leaned backwards, threading his hands comfortably behind his head. "Can't be better than The Pearl,"

"Mmm… I have such good memories of that place," Isabela said, sighing contentedly.

"I'm assuming this is another whorehouse?" Abby asked, glancing between the two of them.

"How could you not know about The Pearl?" Isabela demanded, her gold eyes wide with surprise. "You were from Ferelden!" she added accusingly.

Abigail chuckled, shaking her head. "Ferelden is a big place. I never even saw Denerim. I lived my entire life in Lothering,"

Tristan winced, remembering the tiny rural village packed to bursting with refugees. He couldn't imagine living in a place more dull.

"Wow," he commented. "I think I'm actually grateful I was raised in the Circle. At least there we had the off chance of someone turning into an abomination to liven things up,"

Hawke raised one perfectly shaped brow. "Are you calling Lothering boring?" she demanded.

"Well that depends…" he replied evenly. "What's the most fun thing you ever did there?"

At this Abby's brow furrowed as she no doubt searched through years and years of tedious farm life for some sort of interesting past event. Tristan's lips curled into a smirk as he waited.

"Hey, there's Fenris," Isabela suddenly said, distracting the pair of mages. She pointed to the other end of the bar and Tristan half turned in his seat, following the direction of her finger to a lanky, white haired elf. When he turned back, Isabela was grinning knowingly across at Abby.

"He must be here for you," she taunted.

Hawke shook her head. "That's silly. He might just be here for a drink. It was a tough night,"

The Rivaini pirate made a rude noise of disbelief. "Oh please. He hates this place. I've never seen him set a foot inside while you aren't here,"

Abby pushed herself to her feet, still shaking her head. "If he is looking for me, there might be something wrong. I should go and speak with him,"

"Good idea," Isabela responded, still grinning wickedly.

"You have got to be kidding me," Tristan said flatly, as soon as Hawke was out of earshot. Isabela looked surprised.

"What's wrong?"

"Abby and Fenris," he replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in their direction. Isabela's smile only widened. "No," Tristan said firmly. "No way,"

"Oh come on! Why not?" she leaned towards him as she spoke, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "You know what they say about men who wear shackles, don't you?"

"No and I really, really don't want to know!" he protested, quickly pressing his fingers to her lips to stop her from producing the undoubtedly sordid punch line to her little joke. She smirked as he pulled his hand away.

"I'll save that one for Hawke then," she told him and he felt a momentary pang of guilt for passing one of Isabela's jokes along to his unsuspecting cousin. "Oh come on Amell," the pirate persisted. "What's wrong with the two of them doing…?" The rest of her words were muffled as Tristan once again slammed his hand against her mouth.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the rest of your sentence might have scarred me for life had I let you complete it," he told her. Still keeping his hand firmly against her lips to ward off any other profanities that might escape from her, he continued. "Fenris hates mages. Abigail unfortunately happens to be a mage. Abby is also a really good person while Fenris sort of strikes me as a violent guy. They wouldn't work," he stated adamantly.

Isabela lifted her hand, gently tugging Tristan's fingers away from her mouth. Reluctantly, he released her.

"Can I just say one thing?"

"That depends… Is it safe to hear?"

The pirate nibbled at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I think so,"

Tristan sighed. "Let's have it then,"

She raised one hand, pointing across the bar to the empty space where Fenris and Abigail had been standing only moments before.

"They just left together… Wonder what they're going to do? Alone… In the middle of the night…"

The Warden Commander covered his face with his hands, shaking his head in agony. "Dear Maker Isabela… I'm going to have to buy you a gag,"


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Yes, yes… I know… I just posted…But I'm posting this cus it's really more of a filler than the last chapter was and I know for a fact that between semtests and holidays I'm not going to be updating in a while. :) Enjoy…_

**Chapter 10**

_Dear Maker._

_If you are listening, please do me a favour and start a bar fight in the Hanged Man. It's this tavern in Kirkwall… You know, in the Free Marches? It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, it could even the same as last week when that idiot pinched Isabela on the arse and she rammed him head first into the wall… Or you could get inventive… I don't care… Just _please_ don't leave me like this for a moment longer. _

_P.S… If you are feeling _very _generous, could you kindly send Aveline over to my table? _

_Yours Truly, _

_Abigail Hawke. _

Abby lifted her head from her prayer, once more awkwardly meeting Donnic's chocolate brown eyes. The guardsman watched her warily. The Maker only knew what was going through his mind. In a rather selfless attempt to help Aveline get laid, she and Isabela had decided that the pair should meet for drinks at the Hanged Man. This no doubt would have worked out fabulously if it wasn't for the fact that Aveline had opted to chicken out of the mission. Abby's brow furrowed angrily. She was going to _murder _her for this.

_And Isabela, _she thought viciously, her eyes flickering around the crowded bar in search of the pirate. This had all been _her _idea. She should have been the one to carry it out. But no… Isabela somehow ended up in a secluded table at the other end of the tavern, drinking and playing cards with Tristan. Lucky whore.

"So…" Donnic let the word hang in the air between them and Abby winced, mentally preparing herself for whatever mind numbingly boring conversation was about to ensue. She met his gaze again, silently begging the Maker to heed her prayers.

_I need to start talking to Sebastian more often, _she thought idly. _Maybe he could give me some pointers on getting the Maker's attention, _

"Had any interesting cases lately?" she asked, forcing some semblance of interest into her tone. She tried to force her eyes to stay on Donnic's face while he answered her, resisting the urge to let her gaze wander around the crowded bar in search of a more interesting focus. She could dimly hear Merrill's high pitched giggles as the elf listened in on one of Varric's tales. The tavern was particularly full that night, its dusty and warm interior filled almost to bursting with drunken patrons. The only silence in the entire establishment seemed to resonate from the table where she and the guardsman sat.

"I've been working dockside with those smugglers. Or at least I had been until I was reassigned to Hightown patrol…" Donnic's voice became dejected towards the end of his sentence and Abby winced again.

_Way to go Aveline. Killer move that one was! _she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the red-head's foolishness. It was a maker-damned miracle that Aveline and Wesley had ever progressed far enough to get married. Abby's brow furrowed slightly as a thought struck her.

_Wait a second! Wesley was a Templar, wasn't he? They take vows, don't they? Dear burning Andraste! How did Aveline actually manage to _seduce _that man away from the Chantry!_ She shook her head in confusion. Divine intervention had to have been in play for that particular union to ever be.

The door to the Hanged Man opened, allowing a blast of chilly air to seep into the stifling heat of the bar and distracting her momentarily from her thoughts. Abby glanced towards the entrance, though it was no longer with any semblance of hope. She had long since resigned herself to the fact that Aveline simply wasn't coming. Now it was merely a case of waiting for Donnic to get the guts to decide to leave. Which by the look of sheer agonized boredom spread across his features, shouldn't take too much longer. A shock of white hair suddenly caught her attention.

_There, _she thought, casting a sour glance towards Isabela as Fenris strode into the bar, seating himself down at the table where Varric and Merrill sat. _You see? He doesn't only come in here for me,_ Honestly… She loved Isabela like a sister, but the girl had no clue sometimes.

_Last night was just an exception. He must be lonely. He still hates me, I'm sure,_

Still, it was fun, getting drunk at Denarius's mansion on the magister's expensive wine. Fenris had even been surprisingly talkative. _I must be growing on him, _she thought cheerfully. Given time, one could get used to anything – even mages.

"There were supposed to be others coming, weren't there?" Donnic suddenly piped up. He too had shot a glance towards the entrance as the door opened, though his expression still portrayed a little hope.

_Others? No, no, not at all. Well maybe one other person. But we won't worry about her. She'll be dead in a few hours once I get my hands on her, _

She forced a smile to her lips. It felt more like a grimace. "Plans changed,"

He nodded his head slowly, looking anything but impressed. He lifted his mug of ale to his lips slowly, then changed his mind half way through the action and returned his untouched drink back to the table. Obviously not even sheer and absolute boredom was incentive enough to make him drink the ale before him.

_Okay. If Aveline isn't going to have the plain decency to show up, and the Maker isn't planning on bailing me out of this, I might as well make myself useful, _Abby thought resolutely. She leaned a little closer to Donnic, a you-can-trust-me smile now plastered in place of her grimace.

"So… Aveline is a great Captain huh?"

"Look!" Donnic pushed himself to his feet, his dark eyes flashing in annoyance. Something inside of him seemed to have snapped. "I can see now you're trying to use Aveline to get close to me, but it isn't going to work. I like a woman who is direct. All this game-playing…" he shook his head in disgust. "Good night Serah,"

Abby sat frozen, staring at the spot where Donnic's head had been only moments before, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise.

_What….? My damn! Conceited much? He didn't just do that, did he?_ Abby felt a stir of indignant anger rising up within her.

"I… I couldn't do it…" Aveline's mortified voice came from somewhere above her head. _Oh so _now _you show up, _"What did he say?"

Abby's blue eyes flickered upwards. "Your boyfriend is under the impression that _I _am interested in him,"

"He what? Oh Maker," Aveline dropped into Donnic's vacated seat, resting her head in her hands. "What a mess,"

Abby rubbed her throbbing temples with her fingertips, calling forth a little healing magic to help wash away the pain.

"Worst. Night. Ever," she growled and Aveline looked stricken. 

"I just don't understand why it's so hard for me," the Guard Captain groaned. "It seems so easy for everyone else…"

"Everyone else?" Abby echoed, one brow raised in bemusement. _She had better not be talking about Fenris. There is _nothing _going on between Fenris and I. Good grief Isabela. Stop spreading your gossip. Some people actually believe those ridiculous lies of yours, _"Who exactly has it so right?"

Aveline shifted slightly in her chair, her green eyes gazing wistfully towards the back of the tavern, where Tristan and Isabela still sat.

"How do they manage it?"

"They're not together," Abby pointed out quickly. She would _murder _Isabela if she tried. She didn't need to see her newest family member suffer a broken heart. It might seem cruel of her to think, but Abby knew the pirate too well. Once she had had her 'duel' and was satisfied, she would swiftly move on to her next worthy opponent.

"I know," Aveline nodded her head, her eyes not leaving the pair. "But they just look so damn comfortable together. I wish I could just talk to Donnic. But it's like when I'm not on patrol, I just freeze up and can't say a thing,"

"So then maybe you need to be on patrol," Abigail pointed out. "If that makes you feel more secure, then so be it. The point is that you need to get your feelings out into the open,"

"Is that really such a good idea? I'm his Captain… Things could get very awkward if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings for him," Aveline expelled a ragged sigh, dragging her fingers down her cheeks in agony. "I should just give all this foolishness up and pretend it never happened,"

Abby drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the weathered table before her, considering it carefully. On the one hand, she knew that Aveline's job meant the world to her. Should things between her and Donnic not work out, it would make things even more difficult for the Guard Captain than they already were. On the other hand, she was certain that her job alone would never make Aveline happy. The woman deserved another chance at a husband and a family.

"You have to try, Aveline," she said, giving her a gentle smile of encouragement. "If you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Life is all about risks,"

"What are you suggesting?" the Guard Captain's voice was a sigh of defeat.

"Well, like you said, we need to make sure you're comfortable enough to be able to talk to him. You said you're good on patrols, right?"

Aveline nodded mutely.

"Brilliant," Abby gave a cheerful smile. "Then arrange a patrol with him. Make it along the Wounded Coast, that way you'll have some semblance of privacy,"

Aveline instantly shook her head. "That won't work…" she moaned. "I can't have a deep and meaningful conversation with the man while I'm up to my neck killing bandits,"

Hawke's smile never wavered. "Honestly Aveline. You have so little faith in me. There won't be a single bandit along that patrol – I can assure it,"

"And how can you do that?" the Captain asked doubtfully.

"By going on ahead of you and clearing the way," Abby replied quickly. She placed a reassuring hand on her friend's broad shoulder. "Come on… It won't be so bad. By the end of tomorrow, all of this will be nothing more than a funny memory,"

"I sincerely hope you're right Hawke,"

"Trust me," Abby said reassuringly as she rose to her feet. "I'm always right,"

At this Aveline could only roll her eyes disdainfully and Abby gave her a wink as she sauntered past her, heading for the table where Fenris, Merrill and Varric sat together.

"Deal me in," she sighed, dropping into the seat next to Varric wearily.

"Hello Hawke!" Merrill said cheerfully, waving from across the table. "What were you doing with Guardsman Donnic? Were you two on a date?"

Abby rolled her cobalt blue eyes as she reflected on the most awkward few hours of her life which had just gone past.

_Well according to Donnic it was a date, _she thought irritably.

"Yup," she nodded her head absently while sifting through the hand she had been dealt. "Best date of my life,"

"Really?" Merrill tittered excitedly. "That's simply wonderful Hawke! You deserve to be happy,"

"Merrill?" Abby sighed as she placed her bet on the table. She raised her blue eyes to meet the Dalish elf's brilliant green ones.

Merrill nibbled at her bottom lip unhappily. "That was sarcasm again, wasn't it?" she guessed.

Abby nodded her head. "Well done,"

"So what were you really doing with the guardsman?" Fenris probed. Abigail glanced across at him. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, cautiously scanning the cards in front of him. He leaned forwards, adding a few of his own coins to the pile in the centre of the table and lifted his head to meet her gaze.

"Playing matchmaker for Aveline,"

"Wait a second," Varric held up one hand excitedly. "Aveline is interested in Donnic? As in the guardsman? As in… You know… Romantically?"

"You mean your partner in crime didn't tell you all this already?" Abby asked, one brow rising in surprise. "You'd better watch out Varric. You might just lose her to Tristan Amell,"

"Never!" Varric declared vehemently, while casting a reproachful glance towards the table near the back where the pair still sat. "Between my chest hair and Bianca, what more could a woman want?"

Abby laughed softly. "How could I forget?" she teased.

"If you were playing matchmaker for Aveline, then why wasn't she at the table with you and Donnic?" Fenris asked, his voice suspicious.

"She backed out at the last minute. She was too scared to join us," Abby gave the elf an uncertain glance. Why in the Maker's name did he look so disgruntled?

"That's awful," Merrill sighed. "Poor Aveline,"

"We're going to try again tomorrow," Abby reassured her. "Aveline is going on a patrol along the Wounded Coast with him. I'm going to clear the way ahead to give them some time to talk,"

"Alone?" Fenris shook his head. "Too dangerous. Let me come with you,"

Abigail smiled brilliantly. "You took the words right out of my mouth. In fact, all three of you are coming with me," she tossed her cards on the table and stood up. "Get an early night's sleep guys. Tomorrow is going to be a long day,"


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favourites guys. You make my day =)_

**Chapter 11**

_Breath in, _

_Holding, holding,_

_Go on,_

_Begin to let go,_

'_Cus there's no reason,_

_I'm turning myself,_

_Into somebody else,_

_Calm down,_

_Calm down,_

_Calm down._

_-Holding a Heart._

A hand gently grasped her shoulder, shaking her awake. Isabela's eyes flickered open and for a moment she could only stare uncomprehendingly into Tristan's vivid cobalt eyes. The last thing she would have ever expected to wake up to was the Hero of Ferelden sitting at the edge of her bed. He grinned down at her, a world of mischief in that all too handsome smile. Isabela groaned loudly, snuggling herself a little deeper beneath her bedcovers.

"It's too early," she grumbled, closing her eyes.

"I have a birthday present for you," he told her, his voice holding a child-like eagerness. His words were like a bucket of cold water over her head, instantly bringing her out of her warm drowsiness into full startled awareness. She sat up, her golden eyes narrowed as she glared at him.

"How do you know it's my birthday?" she demanded. She had never told any of the rest of the gang her birth date. To her, birthdays meant aging and the last thing she enjoyed thinking about was the passing of time. Without a birthday each year painfully reminding her that she was growing older, she could quite cheerfully remain ageless in her own mind. Tristan's grin widened a little at the look on her face, and despite her irritation, she couldn't help but begrudgingly note how gorgeous he looked that morning. His raven hair was messily tousled, a few wayward strands falling casually into his vibrant eyes. He looked like he had simply clambered out of bed and thrown on some clothes, without bothering to fix his appearance before he left. She curled her fingers into a fist, resisting the desire she suddenly had to brush her fingers across his forehead and shift those black strands away. She imagined how soft his hair might be to touch, how easy it would be to thread one hand through his messy hair and draw him closer to her… She shook her head. Andraste's tits! What was _wrong_ with her? She needed to pay an _immediate_ visit to the Blooming Rose, she decided.

"I can read your thoughts," Tristan said smugly, causing her to jerk violently. Her eyes widened.

"W-what did you say?"

"You asked how I knew it was your birthday… I can read your thoughts," he folded his arms across his chest, smirking.

Isabela froze, the colour visibly draining from her light coffee complexion.

_Dear Maker! The tome! If he _can_ read my thoughts he'll know all about the tome… _There wasn't a waking moment when she wasn't reflectively obsessing on how to get it back, and what might happen to her should she fail…

Suddenly Tristan started laughing, distracting her again from her thoughts.

"Dear Andraste, Isabela!" he gasped, barely able to speak he was laughing so hard. "_Read your thoughts_? Just how gullible are you?"

Relief flooded through her, and she reached forwards, smacking his arm in mock anger.

"You goose! You almost had me there. How did you really know?"

"You told me last night," he told her, still chuckling in amusement. "Don't you remember? You made me sing happy birthday to you at midnight," his eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you were drunker than I was! I thought that alcohol tolerance of yours was legendary?" he added mockingly.

She rolled her eyes. Typical. You could never trust yourself to keep something quiet whilst inebriated. And it seemed that Tristan had the uncanny ability to keep himself sober even after ingesting copious amounts of the Hanged Man's finest – an ability he attributed to a time spent with a dwarf named Oghren.

"A birthday present, huh?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Where is it?"

"You'll have to come with me to get it," he replied, taking her hand and tugging it impatiently. "Come on! Get up! Let's go,"

"This had better be worth it," she growled, slipping out of bed and grabbing her clothing. Tristan quickly averted his eyes as she did so and she belatedly realised that she had stripped her clothes before falling into bed the previous night. Up until now, her threadbare blanket had just managed to keep her modestly covered. She chuckled at him as she slipped her white corset over her head and continued to search the room for her underwear, not bothering to fasten the ties on her bodice.

"You aren't shy, are you Tristan?" she teased.

His blue eyes flickered to hers. "Someone has to be modest for you,"

"How sweet," she chuckled. "Now help me find the rest of my damn clothing,"

Lazily he stood up, crossing the room towards her, scooping up her underwear off a wooden dresser on his way past. He handed them to her and she smiled, quickly tugging them on. He reached for the ties on her corset and she froze to the spot as he quickly tied them, his fingers moving with a deftness that suggested he'd tied and untied many women's bodices before. He was suddenly too close, his breath hot on her cheek as he finished the ties at the top of the corset, his fingers sending shivers across her skin where they accidently brushed against her. Her eyes moved from his fingers to his lips, and without realising it, she shifted ever so slightly closer to him. He finished the last tie, his blue eyes rising to meet hers. Her breath caught in her throat as he stared down at her. Then he smiled inscrutably, stepped back from her and pointed to a spot at the corner of her room.

"Your boots are over there,"

Biting back a wave of disappointment and fighting against the almost overwhelming urge to grab him and press her lips against his, she turned around and headed towards the spot he had indicated, slipping her cold feet into the soft leather of her boots.

_You're doing this for Abby, _she reminded herself firmly. _She would never forgive you if you hurt him, _

Isabela shot a glance back at him as she strapped her leather gloves in place, wondering if it was even _possible_ to hurt him. He seemed so damned self-assured and confident.

_Better not try, _she sighed inwardly.

"Sweet burning Andraste," Tristan complained, impatiently tapping one booted foot against her wooden floor. "How long does it take you to get dressed?"

"I'm done. I'm done," she sighed, turning back to him. "This birthday present had better be brilliant,"

"You're going to love it," Tristan replied cheerfully. He pushed her door open, giving her a mocking bow. "Ladies first,"

She rolled her eyes at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him along after her as she strode out the door and down the steps to the tavern below. The Hanged Man was suspiciously quiet – save for a single drunk who was passed out cold on the floor, there was no one in the bar. Even Corff was absent. They picked their way through the room, heading towards the front entrance. Isabela gaped as Tristan opened the door, staring up at the dark sky overhead. The inky blackness above was only just starting to fade at the horizon. Dawn was slowly re-establishing the divide between sky and land which the darkness had blurred. A blood red line formed along that divide as the sun began to creep its way upwards, its tender rays starting to give shape and form to the buildings surrounding them.

"The sun hasn't even risen!" she whirled around to face him, glaring. "What birthday present would require you to wake me up at this Maker-damned hour?"

"If you keep walking, then you'll soon find out," he told her, his voice somewhat exasperated. She huffed irritably, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she stared up at him.

"Will you at least tell me where we're going?"

He reached one hand forwards, his fingers brushing against her hip as he gently undid the shawl that she had tied around her waist.

"A blindfold?" she giggled, as he secured the band of blue material across her eyes. "How kinky,"

"Hush," he murmured, his lips now close to her ear as he deftly tied a knot behind her head. He shifted his grip on her hand. "Try not to trip," he cautioned her, as he pulled her gently forwards.

She followed him through the streets of Lowtown, listening to the crunch of their boots on the gravel as they walked, and the soft whistling of the cool wind around them. At first she tried to keep note of the direction he was leading her in, but after the seventh turn he made she was utterly lost and could do nothing more than allow herself to be led at his whim.

"Are we there yet? It's bloody cold this early in the morning! You had better not be leading me around in circles Tristan Amell," she added warningly.

He chuckled softly. "Stop complaining, we're nearly there,"

The piercing shriek of a gull followed his words and Isabela suddenly smiled, realising _exactly _where they were. A deep breath of fresh sea air confirmed her suspicions.

"The docks? You're taking me to the docks?" she guessed.

"We're going a little further than the docks," he murmured. He stopped walking and turned towards her, reaching up to remove the blindfold from her eyes. Isabela glanced around curiously, her golden brown eyes almost instantly falling upon the _Kalipsa _which rested just ahead of her. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the sailors who were busy unfurling the ship's white sails. She turned back to Tristan, feeling slightly panicked.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Tristan nodded his head, grinning. "I need to take the _Kalipsa _on a test run to see if she's still sound to sail. She should be alright after the repairs Captain Reynold has had done on her, but I'd rather be sure,"

Isabela nodded her head in understanding. "It's always best to be safe," she said cautiously, still uncertain as to why he had led her down here.

"I thought so too. So, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

Tristan's grin grew wider in the face of her obvious confusion. "I gave my Captain the day off today. I was hoping you might sail her for me."

Isabela sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes darting back to the beautiful galleon that rested before her.

"You want me to…?" she trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. The very thought of sailing such an exquisite ship left her breathless with excitement and anticipation. Not even _The Siren's Call_, which had once been her pride and joy, could measure up to the beauty, power and sleek grace that the _Kalipsa _so effortlessly possessed.

"Happy birthday Bela,"Tristan whispered in her ear. "Try not to crash my ship, okay?"

…

Isabela drew in a deep breath of salty air, her eyes flickering closing briefly as she committed the perfect moment to memory. It had been three long years since she had felt so perfectly and completely happy. Three years since she had felt so at peace. She could scarcely believe she had denied herself this exquisite pleasure for so long. Her gold eyes opened once more, expertly scanning the deep blue depths of the Waking Sea which surrounded the _Kalipsa. _The waters were choppy and rough, white waves driven about by a wind that was as reckless and excited as herself. A cold, salty mist clung to her skin, but the chill was tempered by the warmth of the golden sun high above her head. Isabela leaned against the polished mahogany wood of the wheel, casting an appraising glance at the crewmen that scurried to and fro along the wooden decking of the galleon, each one of them immersed in their task. They were a seemingly competent bunch of men, not nearly as rowdy or as impudent as her previous crew had been, and they followed her orders perfectly. Whatever damages the galleon might have sustained in the storm were non-existent now. The _Kalipsa's _sleek frame moved through the turbulent waters with the grace of a dancer. The fishing trawlers which dotted the bay around them all looked clunky and ungainly in comparison.

"So?" Tristan asked, stepping up into the wheelhouse beside her. "Is she sound?"

"She's more than sound," Isabela sighed contentedly. "She's the finest bloody ship I've ever seen,"

The Warden grinned at her praise, shrugging. "I wouldn't know," he admitted. "She's the first and only ship I've ever sailed on. But Reynold seems to love her too, so I guess she must be worth her salt,"

Isabela turned her gaze back to the endless expanse of ocean that stretched out before her, feeling the familiar call of the unknown beckoning to her soul. They had been out on the waters for hours already, but deep inside she knew it could never be enough. The very thought of having to turn back to Kirkwall sent a shudder of misery flooding through her.

"You're pretty good at this," Tristan added, his blue eyes gleaming with approval. "In fact I have a sneaking suspicion you're better than my current Captain, but don't tell him I said so,"

Isabela felt her heart swell with the praise. She smiled at him. "That's almost insulting," she teased. "You do happen to realise that I'm the finest Captain in the Eastern Seas?"

"Is that so?" he replied, his brow furrowing. "Because I had heard that the finest Captain in the Eastern Seas was a pirate,"

"And what's wrong with being a pirate?" Isabela demanded, releasing her grip on the wheel for long enough to place her hands on her hips. Tristan laughed softly at the look on her face.

"Pirate's steal ships Isabela. You're not planning on stealing my ship, are you?"

"I'm sorely tempted," she grumbled, turning back to the helm.

Tristan started to say something in response, but the words suddenly died on his lips as he cried out sharply in pain. Isabela turned back to him in alarm.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer her. His face was wracked in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. His hand was clenched against his chest, gripping at something which rested beneath his shirt.

"Tristan!" she called his name sharply, feeling a prickle of unease crawl along her skin.

"Something's wrong," he whispered the words so softly she could scarcely hear him. "Arrrghhh!" he cried out in pain again, dropping to his knees in front of her. His blue eyes opened, wide with pain and panic. "Turn us around," he commanded. "I need to get back,"

"Parish!" Isabela yelled, her golden eyes swiftly sweeping the expanse of the deck in search of her. The girl was already headed towards them, drawn by Tristan's screams.

"What happened?" she cried in alarm as she reached the wheelhouse, her grey eyes locked on Tristan.

"Take the wheel. Get us back to land. Now!" Isabela ordered sharply. She waited only long enough to ensure that Parish was following her orders before kneeling down in front of Tristan.

The Hero of Ferelden's face was ashen and covered with a sheen of sweat. His entire body was shaking. He gritted his teeth, meeting her gaze with fearful eyes. His other hand was now pressed against his stomach. As Isabela watched, a rose of blood bloomed around his fingers, soaking through his white shirt.

"What's happening?" she gasped.

"I need… to help her," he muttered, his every word followed by a hiss of pain. "How far… to land…?"

She turned around uncertainly, casting her gaze to the coastland. She had been following the curve of the shore, so they were not too far away from the beach itself, but getting back to the docks was another issue entirely. Tristan followed her gaze, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as she had. With another sharp hiss of pain he pushed himself to his feet. The hand he pressed to his stomach glowed blue with magic and the steady drip of blood ceased its trickling down his fingers.

"Tristan where are you going?" Isabela demanded, as he stumbled towards the starboard side of the ship. He gripped the railing with his blood-stained hand.

"There isn't enough time," he whispered desperately, before leaning forwards and tumbling over the side.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Just posting this while I have internet available. This is the last complete chapter I had on my laptop so the next one will take a while. Thanks guys for the support=)_

**Chapter 12**

Warm, golden sand shifted restlessly beneath Abby's booted feet as she strode along one of the well-worn pathways that followed the Wounded Coast. A restless wind played around her, toying with strands of her ebony hair and tossing stinging grains of sand into the air. Her willowy frame and long, dark blue robes saved her from most of the force of the sand, but Varric, whose head was significantly closer to the ground, wasn't faring so well. The dwarf's hand was raised protectively against his face, his light brown eyes narrowed against the onslaught.

"Aveline's love life had better be worth this," he complained, for what seemed to be the thousandth time that hour. Fenris grunted his agreement. Sighing softly, Abby glanced down the slope of the dune towards the path where Donnic and Aveline walked. The beaches of the Wounded Coast held an intricate and confusing maze of pathways through the sand dunes which had made it all too easy for them to stalk the Guard Captain as she and Donnic sauntered along their patrol. Had it not been for the wind that swirled around them, they might even have been able to catch a few snatches of conversation where the pathways ran closer together. Not that it looked like much conversation was taking place. Donnic's face bore much the same expression as it had the previous night.

"Not even the bandits are out in this," Varric continued his grumbling. "We're the only idiots who decided to patrol the coast today,"

"We're almost done," Hawke reassured him. She couldn't blame him for being disgruntled. Especially when they were all too well aware of the fact that a warm and inviting tavern awaited them back in Kirkwall. A pint of bitter ale and a bowl of Corff's mystery stew sounded like pure heaven at that moment.

"You owe me a drink for this," Varric added, seemingly reading her thoughts.

"I would think that Aveline should be the one to buy you the drink," Fenris pointed out. "We're doing this for her, after all,"

"Not that it's doing her any good," Abby sighed, her eyes still fixed on the path below them. The pair had rounded a corner ahead and was no longer in sight, but Hawke could imagine all too well the awkward silence that would still be between them. "Do you think we should have perhaps… you know… given her some pointers beforehand?"

"Like what?" Varric gave her a bemused glance. The skin on his face was ruddy from the combination of wind and sand that had been lashed against it. "She's a little too old to be giving her 'the talk',"

"Not _that_," Abby protested, blushing. "I just meant some tips or something. You know? Like conversation topics she could bring up, or some basic flirting techniques… Anything, really. I feel like we sent her into this mission unprepared,"

"Mission!" Varric scoffed. "She's a woman, he's a man. It should be as easy as that. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be,"

"Try spending three hours in Donnic's company and then we'll talk," Abby said knowingly. She nibbled at her bottom lip, wishing she could have come up with a simpler solution. Perhaps Merrill might have been able to create a love potion or something, she should have asked her…

_Wait a second… It's too quiet, _she thought, grimacing.

She stopped dead on the pathway, turning around and shielding her eyes with her hand as she stared back down the slope. "Where did Merrill go?"

The elf had been with them not ten minutes ago. She had been jabbering some nonsense or other about some herb that she had found growing in the shallow yellow sand that hugged the shore. Hawke should have realised that the sudden silence was too good to be true.

"She can't have gone far," Fenris shrugged, glancing around as though he expected the elf to materialize from out of one of the surrounding scraggily bushes at any moment.

Varric was incredulous. "This is Merrill we're talking about," he muttered. "She has getting lost down to an art form,"

Abby gritted her teeth in frustration. "We'd better retrace our steps. Who knows what kind of trouble she'll get into without us?"

"What about Aveline?" Fenris asked, casting an uncertain glance back up the path.

Abigail shook her head. "She can deal with a few bandits. It might even give her and Donnic something to talk about," she added, rolling her eyes. She motioned Fenris forwards. "Let's just find Merrill so we can get the hell out of here,"

"Agreed!" Varric said instantly, looking relieved. He fell into step beside Hawke as they strode back down the pathway.

Abby walked swiftly, pushing the pace, driven by some indefinable instinct within her that boded trouble. Her brow furrowed with annoyance.

_Next time, _she promised herself. _I'll tie a leash to that elf before I agree to take her anywhere, _

She glanced half-heartedly down at the sandy path, hoping to catch some glimpse of Merrill's tracks, but the wind had already swept most of the shallow impressions away. They reached the bottom of the slope once more and Abby felt her heart clench in fear. There was still no sign of the little Dalish elf. Varric and Fenris seemed to have caught onto her anxiety. Their expressions were grim, their eyes dancing around the wide open expanse of beach to their left.

"She's not there," Abby said in frustration. She indicated another path, one which led away from the beach towards the rocky crags of Sundermount. "That way," she decided. Without waiting for an answer she pressed forwards again, lifting the edge of her robes with one hand so that she wouldn't stumble on the hem as she ran. The sand gave way to rock a little further up the path and Abby increased their pace, no longer hindered by the sinking, shallow sea-sand.

"There!" Varric called suddenly, pointing to a narrow pathway which led away from the main path, to a round, open area surrounded by high black boulders. It took Abigail a moment longer to spot Merrill's lithe frame. The elf was standing in the centre of the clearing, staring up at the boulders with rapt attention.

"Merrill!" Abby's voice was sharp with annoyance. She strode towards her and placed one hand on her shoulder, whirling the girl around to face her. "What are you doing here?"

Merrill's face was white with fear, her green eyes impossibly wide. Abby could feel her shivering beneath the tight grip of her hand.

"Can't you see it?" The elf whispered, sending a bolt of fear flooding through her. With a cold feeling of dread, Abigail realised that Fenris and Varric hadn't followed her into the clearing. They still stood on the pathway, their eyes pinned to a point just ahead of her. Slowly, Abby turned her gaze back to the high black boulders that surrounded them. It took her several seconds before she noticed the pair of luminescent yellow-gold eyes that watched her. A high dragon lay sprawled across the boulders which surrounded the clearing, the unusual, jet-black colour of its metallic scales allowing it to blend perfectly against the rocks. It was easily the largest dragon she had ever laid eyes upon. Its appearance was nothing like the usual high dragons which made Sundermount their home. Those dragons were smaller, sleeker and covered with dark red and purple scales and spines. This dragon had a heavier build, its neck was shorter, its head heavier, its body wider. The scales which covered it were ink black and glittered like a thousand onyxes in the sunlight. The dragon's long tail twitched and Abigail's eyes were drawn to the wicked looking spikes at the tip. Lazily, the dragon raised its head towards her, its dark blue forked tongue tasting the air curiously. It stood up slowly, a low, sleepy groan escaping its chest as it clambered down the rocks and into clearing. Abigail stood still as a statue as the monster approached her, her heart hammering in her chest. From somewhere just behind her, there was a metallic hiss as Fenris drew his greatsword.

"Fenris!" Abby screamed as the elf charged past her, his sword levelled towards the giant dragon. With a blood curdling yell he flung himself up at the dragon, his blade biting deep into its black belly. The beast gave a blood-chilling roar of pain and agony. It dipped its head, snatching Fenris up in its jaws and tossing him high in the air. The elf landed in a broken heap a few feet away.

"No!" Abigail sprinted to his side, while behind her Varric and Merrill continued the fight. Fenris's eyes were closed, his body pouring dark red blood out of several deep wounds that had gouged through his heavy armour. She pressed her shaking hands against Fenris's pale cheeks, feeling a buzz of energy grow within her as she poured her healing magic inside of him. The tide of blood was halted and his green eyes flickered open, dazed with pain and confusion. Satisfied that he would be all right, Abby turned back to the dragon. She snatched the wooden staff from her back, feeling it hum with power beneath her hands as she cast a glyph of paralysis over the monster. The dragon shrieked out its fury as its legs were caught up in the spell, and it snapped at the air with its impressive jaws. It twisted its head towards her, breathing out a blast of blue and yellow flames through its nostrils. Abby threw herself sideways, the heat searing her leg as she scrabbled out of the way of the fire. The edge of her robe had caught alight. She stamped out the flames and pushed herself back to her feet, sending a cone of cold flying back towards the dragon. It roared again, a terrifying sound which seemed to shake the very earth beneath her feet with its fury. Its black tail whipped forwards with lightning speed, sweeping Merrill clean off her feet. Abby felt her heart lurch in terror as the dragon snapped its jaws towards the Dalish elf, but Merrill quickly rolled out of the way, sending an arcane bolt flying towards the monster to distract it. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Fenris manage to stand. He staggered forwards, snatching his sword off the ground from where it had fallen a few feet away. The dragon turned its attention back towards him, hissing in anger as it caught sight of his blade. The deep wound in its stomach was still oozing dark blue blood. Fenris charged forwards, but this time the dragon was ready for him. With another impressive sweep of its tail it knocked the white haired elf off his feet, sending him tumbling into the dust. It sent another blast of fire towards him as he rolled out the way. In seconds he was back on his feet, staggering forwards again. Abby cast a protective shield over him as he ran, knowing all the while that her magic would be of little consequence should the dragon's great jaws clamp down over the elf.

"Varric!" she screamed. The dwarf lifted his head towards her, his brown eyes mirroring the same panic that was eating her inside. "You have to get out of here!" she yelled.

He was the closest one to the pathway, the only one who was not blocked in some way by the dragon. He shook his head wildly at her words.

"I'm not leaving you!" he yelled back.

"You have to," she insisted. She sent another cone of cold towards the dragon, staggering slightly as the mana steadily drained from her body. Fenris's shield was taking a lot out of her. "You have to go and get Aveline!"

Varric hesitated, obviously seeing the merit behind her words. Aveline and Donnic couldn't be too far away, and if they came, it would help to turn the fight in their favour. Even then, Abby wasn't certain they could win this.

The dwarf gave a single nod of his head, his face ashen with fear. He turned quickly, escaping back down the path while Abby distracted the dragon with another paralysis glyph. They needed help, and fast. Without it, she was certain they were doomed.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I did warn you though. Haha. Wrote this in a rush while I had time between tests and still have internet available, so forgive me any mistakes.

**Chapter 13**

_I shot for the sky,_

_I'm stuck on the ground,_

_So why do I try?_

_I know I'm going to fall down._

_I thought I could fly,_

_So why did I drown?_

_I never know why,_

_It's coming down, down, down._

_-Jason Walker, Down._

For just a moment, the world seemed to stop. Isabela stared at the spot where Tristan had stood just moments before, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat, the sound of Sonja's screams ringing in her ears. The wooden deck beneath her feet seemed to spin as she stumbled forwards, staring in panic at the roiling blue waters far below. Tristan's dark head bobbed briefly in sight, and then disappeared. Isabela didn't hesitate. She hoisted herself onto the railing and balanced precariously for a brief moment, before gracefully diving overboard. She plunged headfirst into the icy water, the shock of it sending sharp pinpricks of pain shooting across her tanned skin. The current swirled around her, drawing her deeper, clinging to her as she struggled towards the surface. She broke free, sucked in a sharp gasp of air, and plunged down again. Tristan may have been many things, but he wasn't a particularly strong swimmer. He was still beneath the water, struggling wildly, his limbs flailing against the current. She grabbed hold of his arm tightly, hauling him upwards. His head broke the surface and he sucked in another desperate gasp of air.

"_Are you out of your mind_?" Isabela screamed in his ear. He turned towards her, seemingly startled to find that she had jumped into the ocean after him. His face was pinched against the cold, his blue eyes bright with fear. Another wave broke over their heads before he could answer her, but she held tightly to his arm, helping to keep him afloat.

"I have to get to shore," he yelled, his face contorted with agony.

"Tristan, this is madness!" she gasped out, clinging a little tighter to him as another wave crashed around them. "Let's just get back to the ship,"

"There's not enough time," he shouted back desperately. "We're close enough to swim back,"

"Tristan…"

He met her gaze stubbornly. "I'm going, Isabela. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Fine, Maker damn it! Let's just get you out of this water!"

Still clutching him firmly, she began to swim towards the shore and Tristan did the same, his face contorted with pain. Their progress was agonizingly slow and they were battered about by the waves and the current as they swam. Isabela held her tongue, forcing back the wild questions that were whirling around her head. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening to him, it could wait until he was safely on dry land once more.

"Fly away damn it," Tristan muttered to himself, as she half dragged him through the icy ocean. She glanced back at him fearfully, wondering if Abigail's cousin was starting to lose it. They were getting closer to shore. The waves around them were growing larger, more violent. Isabela still clung to him as best she could, her expression grim. She wasn't sure Tristan would've been able to make it had she not been helping him along. Eventually they staggered out of the shallow water and onto the beach and Isabela fell to her knees in the sand, gasping with exhaustion. Tristan sank down beside her, his body shaking with pain and cold. The wound in his stomach had opened once more, bright red blood mingling with wet sand beneath him. Isabela's face paled as she caught sight of it.

"What the hell…"

"We have to keep going," he cut across her, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "We have to find her,"

"_Who_?" she yelled, her frustration finally getting the better of her self-control. "Who do we have to find? What the hell is going on Tristan?"

"I'll explain later," he muttered, staggering back to his feet. He pressed his hand back against his wound, healing it for the second time. Then he raised his bloody hand and lifted the amulet he wore from beneath his soaked cotton shirt, gripping it tightly. For a brief moment his cobalt blue eyes shone like lyrium.

"Shit!" Isabela flinched backwards, staring at him with wide gold eyes. For a moment his glowing eyes had reminded her of Anders when Justice came out to play. Rising to her feet, Isabela wondered warily if Tristan had a 'stowaway' of his own. He raised his arm, his hand hanging limply.

"That way," he whispered hoarsely, his index finger twitching briefly in the direction of the rocky crags of Sundermount. "I need to get closer to her. I need to talk some sense into her. She's frightened,"

_She's not the only one, _Isabela thought darkly. She squashed the thought instantly. She didn't have time for fear. She had a healthy appreciation for it, and she'd experienced it more times than she would care to admit, but she never let it control her.

"When this is over…" she began.

"Yes," Tristan replied softly. "When this is over I'll tell you everything. Now give me a hand,"

She shifted closer to him, allowing him to drape an arm over her shoulder, supporting a little of his weight. They pretty much staggered across the beach, stopping every few minutes or so for Tristan to catch his breath. The fear that Isabela had managed to calm was slowly creeping back with every stolen glimpse she took of the Warden's face. Whatever was happening to him seemed to be stealing the very life from his body. His usually golden tanned skin was steadily turning pale and grey. He didn't look fit to be conscious, let alone walking. Sand shifted to rock underfoot as they finally made it off the beach. They kept walking, moving along one of the well-worn rocky trails that led to the mountains, battered about by the ever present and tormenting wind as they went.

"Isabela!" Varric's voice echoed loudly around them. The pirate lifted her head, relief washing over her as she caught sight of the blonde haired dwarf and – directly behind him – Aveline and Guardsman Donnic. They had appeared quite suddenly from one of the meandering pathways that cut across the trail they had been walking upon, all three of them with their weapons drawn.

"What happened to Tristan?" Aveline demanded, her eyes widening as she stared at the raven-haired Warden.

"There's no time for that!" Varric muttered, shaking his head. "We have to get back to Hawke!"

"Abby?" Tristan gasped, his voice painfully weak. "What's happened?"

"A blighted _dragon_!" the dwarf yelled. "They're being attacked by a dragon!"

For some reason the news that his new found cousin was being attacked by an enormous, fire-breathing lizard didn't seem to worry Tristan in the least. In fact, he seemed down right relieved.

"Take me to her," he ordered, and Isabela had a strange feeling that he wasn't referring to Hawke.

"This way!" Varric ordered, before charging up the pathway they had been following. Tristan eased his weight off of her shoulders as they walked, somehow managing to keep up with Varric's gruelling pace, though Isabela could see the toll it was taking on him. Each hurried step he took was accompanied by a hiss of pain. The sounds of fighting suddenly came from up ahead, followed by a bellowing roar of pain and Tristan broke into a stumbling run. He was the first into the clearing, already almost at the dragon's side before Isabela had the chance to realise what was happening.

"Get back," he yelled to Hawke, who whirled around in shock as he came upon her. The enormous, pitch black beast seemed to freeze at the sound of his voice, turning its head away from Fenris, who had been defiantly holding the dragon at bay with his greatsword, despite the blood that was pooling around his feet from his wounds. Tristan lifted one hand to his amulet, clutching it tightly as he raised his other hand into the air. His fingers glowed blue with magic for a brief moment, before rushing forwards, enveloping the dragon in a haze of pale blue light. With another, softer cry, the dragon spread its enormous wings and swooped upwards, flying away.

For the second time that day, the world seemed to stand still for just a moment as they all stared upwards, tracing the dragon's movements until it disappeared among the clouds high above.

"That was incredible!" Varric yelled, moving towards Tristan. The Warden turned back to them, flashing a cocky grin. His skin no longer held the grey pallor it had just moments before, the weakness was gone from his body, the pain banished from his eyes. He suddenly looked the picture of health, Isabela noted.

"What the hell took you so long?" Abby demanded, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. The embrace only lasted a moment before she was rushing to Fenris's side, laying healing hands upon his wounds.

"That was _amazing _Tristan," Merrill marvelled, moving towards them. The little elf seemed the least scathed of the three of them who had been battling the dragon. "What did you do to the dragon to make it fly away?"

"I've never seen anything like that," Donnic added. He was staring at Tristan with open admiration. "You really are a hero,"

"I didn't even know there was a spell that could make a dragon run scared," Aveline added shakily.

Tristan shrugged one shoulder, still grinning. "The perks of being a Grey Warden, I guess. We're scary enough to frighten off dragons,"

They all laughed at that, still staring at him in amazement, all of them believing that he had somehow hurt the dragon enough to chase it away.

Isabela didn't believe it for a second.

Tristan hadn't hurt the dragon at all. He had healed it. And in so doing, he had healed himself. He turned his head towards her, meeting her gaze, his smile faltering a little as she stared at him. Hawke suddenly reappeared at his shoulder, a healed but slightly shaken up Fenris at her side.

"What _did _you do to it?" she asked. "And more importantly, where the hell did you come from? You have brilliant timing you know,"

"Hey, what can I say," Tristan teased. "A hero is supposed to show up at the right place at the right time. It's his Maker given duty,"

"Right," Hawke replied sarcastically, rolling her blue eyes. "Well whatever you did, I'm glad you showed up when you did. We were pretty much done for. That dragon… I've never seen anything like it before,"

"You're right," Aveline said, her brow furrowing. "I've never seen anything like it before, either. It definitely isn't from around here,"

"It was beautiful though," Merrill sighed.  
>"Really?" Varric replied with a snort. "I hadn't noticed. I was too busy thinking about how it was going to kill us,"<p>

Isabela sidled up to Tristan's side as the others bickered, each covering their fear and relief by offering up the inane conversation. She grabbed his wrist and he glanced down at her, the quiet amusement fading from his eyes.

"Now," she whispered, so only he could hear. "I want answers now. Or I tell them what _really _happened,"

He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

"We should probably head back," he said aloud. "In case that thing decides to come back,"

Abby nodded her head. "Agreed. We're in no fit state for round two with that monster. Not yet, anyway,"

"Yet?" Tristan arched one brow.  
>"It's living too close to the city Tristan. And it's started attacking humans. We're going to have to deal with it,"<p>

"I agree," Fenris said, speaking up for the first time. "That beast must be killed," he began to walk out of the clearing and Abby fell into step beside him, followed closely by the others. Isabela trailed at the back of the group, with Tristan at her side. Aveline and Hawke began talking strategies for their next attack as they walked. Tristan's expression grew darker with each passing moment. He waited until they had reached the beach again before suddenly grabbing Isabela's hand.

"We're going to take a walk along the shore for a bit," he called to Abby. "See you back at the Hanged Man later,"

Hawke turned back towards them, her brows arching in surprise. "You and Isabela?"

"Uh-huh," Tristan replied.

Varric gave them a suspicious look. "A sunset walk along the beach… that's almost… _romantic_,"

"Write a friend fic about it," Tristan suggested nonchalantly.

"Just be careful," Aveline advised, before continuing down the path after Fenris, who hadn't bothered to stop. Donnic followed dutifully after her.

"Fine," Abby sighed. "I'll see you two later then. Maybe. I think I might need a shower and a sleep more than a drink. Don't think you're off the hook either. I still want to know how you did that!" she added, giving Tristan a firm glance. He grinned.

"Go home Abby. I'll drop by the mansion tonight okay?"

She nodded her head and left with Varric, whose glazed eyes suggested he was already mentally plotting out the chapters for his latest friend fiction.

"Let's take a walk," Tristan said quietly. Still holding her hand, he led her back down onto the beach. Isabela fell into step beside him, watching him impatiently as he obviously sifted through his thoughts, trying to find a way to begin.

"The beginning is usually as good a place as ever," she said wryly, and he gave her a surprised glance, confirming her suspicions.

"The beginning… Sure…" he sighed. "I guess that would be about five months ago now,"

"What happened five months ago?" she probed, when he hesitated again.

He sighed and glanced down, meeting her gaze. "That's when I met Umbra,"


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Yes, yes, I know. Another double update. Inspiration seems to hit me all at once, so that's how I post. The format of this chapter might be a bit confusing, so just to clarify…We are flashing back five months and the chapter runs from Tristan's POV at that time. Everything that is described in this chapter, you can assume that he is explaining to Isabela on the beach. I just did it this way cus I wanted to avoid writing a whole long conversation as a chapter. This seemed the easier option. _

_Let's take a better look,_

_Beyond the story book,_

_And learn our souls are all we own,_

_Before we turn to stone. _

_-Ingrid Michaelson, Turn to Stone. _

**Chapter 14**

_5 Months ago,_

_Minathrous, Tevinter Imperium. _

There was a muted cough, a quiet sigh, a scrape of steel against stone as booted feet shifted restlessly. Tristan Amell closed his cobalt eyes tightly and silently counted to ten, all the while praying to the Maker he wasn't sure he believed in for patience.

"Alistair…" he growled softly, not opening his eyes.

"What?" the blonde haired warden replied, his tone sharper than it normally was. Tristan flinched guiltily.

_A year, _he reminded himself. _It took me a year before I could find the time to help him with this. He has the right to be edgy. _

Then he quickly pushed aside the guilt, reminding himself firmly that he had had a _duty _to the Grey Wardens and chasing after the love of Alistair's life did _not _qualify as more important than rebuilding his broken order. His eyes flickered open again and he glanced over at Alistair's profile. He was glad that his friend wasn't able to hear the things that were running through his head. Alistair may be devoted to the wardens, but his infallible morals still held first priority. Had their places been reversed and it had been him in need of help, Alistair wouldn't have hesitated.

Tristan took a breath to steady himself, concentrating on the task at hand: finding Morrigan. She had disappeared directly after the final battle, leaving Alistair with a broken heart that still had not managed to heal two years later. It still surprised him, thinking of the mismatched couple. But as the blight had gone on and time had passed, he had slowly began to notice the feelings growing steadily between the pair. He could still remember the way her yellow-gold eyes would grow soft when she glanced at Alistair, or the way her insults had slowly lost their sting as the two of them had grown closer. The witch had given Alistair a ring, something she had claimed would help her to find him should they ever lose track of him. Tristan had managed to turn the magic around, using it instead to track Morrigan. Their search had led them here, into the Tevinter Imperium, all the way to Minathrous. Not that Tristan was completely certain that she was even in the city, the ring's magic was not meant to be channelled the opposite way, and as such only gave him vague and hazy impressions as to her locations. In fact, the more he glanced around the crowded city, the more confident he became that they were searching in the wrong place.

"She wouldn't be here," he said, his blue eyes flickering searchingly across the crowd that thronged the open square. He turned to the blonde who stood beside him. "This place isn't exactly her style,"

Alistair nodded his head slowly, but the gesture lacked any conviction. He glanced at Tristan with haunted hazel brown eyes.

"They're burning witches," he said softly, nodding towards the centre of the crowd, where three pyres were being soaked with oil. The wooden platforms were empty – but they would not remain so for very long. "What kind of hypocrisy…" he trailed off, shaking his head angrily.

"Tevinter Magisters have a precarious position," Tristan explained. "The rest of Thedas has come to the conclusion that mages cannot be trusted to live in freedom. If the Tevinter Imperium is to live on, the Magisters have to prove that they are doing everything they can to maintain balance. Slaughtering renegade apostates helps with that image," he added, his voice cold.

"If it's her…" Alistair whispered. He let the sentence hang in the air, a silent question.

"_If _it's her, we won't let her get within ten feet of that pyre." Tristan assured him. He scanned Alistair's face, searching the features he knew so well for signs of trouble. They had been comrades for just over three years now, and he could easily interpret every subtle gesture or nuanced expression in his friend's face. If the blight had taught him anything, it was the importance of knowing one's allies. Under any normal circumstances, he knew he could trust Alistair with his life. A born soldier, he would follow any order – to the death if need be. But when it came to Morrigan, Alistair was unpredictable. He had proved that a year ago, when he had abandoned Tristan to deal with the rebuilding of the Warden's alone, while he had gone in search of her. Alistair's eyes narrowed as he stared back at him.  
>"Don't give me that look," he said warningly.<p>

"What look?" Tristan replied, feigning innocence.

"_That _look," Alistair waved his hand at Tristan's face. "It's the way you looked at Morrigan when we first met her. The same look you gave Leliana when she first told you about her vision of the Maker. The look you gave Wynne after she told you about the fade spirit inside of her. It's the look you gave Zevran every single time he offered you some of his herbal tea!" Alistair ranted. "It's that look you get when you're trying to figure out how dangerous someone could turn out to be,"

Tristan winced slightly at his words. "I wasn't…"

"_Yes _you were," Alistair growled. "And I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid,"

_That's what you say now, _Tristan silently sighed. _But if you see her… if she's here... _He closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the worries that tugged and played at his emotions.

"I trust you Alistair," he said quietly.

The blonde haired warden gave a derisive snort. "Ri-ight," he said, in his slow, sarcastic drawl. "I have Templar training you know. I can feel that magic of yours humming. You're nervous,"

Tristan clenched his jaw, tightening his control over his magic. Sensitive to his emotions, it would rise up in response to fear or agitation, ready to do damage at any moment.

"Look," Alistair slipped his gauntlet off and tugged a ring off of his finger – Morrigan's ring. "Make yourself useful and see if you can't get anything out of this again,"

Tristan took the ring from him, holding it between his steel clad fingers. The dark, polished wood gleamed in the Tevinter sunlight as he toyed with it idly, focusing his magic upon the ring. His eyes fluttered closed as he drew upon his magic, tugging back at the connection that tied Morrigan to the ring, using her magic against her. It didn't always work, but sometimes, even for only the fleetest of moments, he would gain a sense of the witch. It had led them thus far, Tristan could only hope it would get lead them all the way back to her.

_And then what? _he silently mocked himself. _She's hiding for a reason. Are you really helping Alistair by doing this? _

He shrugged his thoughts aside, gritting his teeth as he tried to force himself to concentrate. Slowly he felt the first stirrings of her magic within the wooden circle. He focused harder, clinging to the connection with everything he had. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sucked in a harsh breath of surprise as his magic revealed a glimpse of the witch's location.

"Impossible," he breathed.

"What? What is it?" Alistair demanded.

Tristan didn't answer him. He was too busy staring at the raven-haired apostate who stood on the far side of the square. As though sensing his gaze, she lifted her head to his, her yellow-gold eyes widening as she stared into his eyes. Alistair whirled his head, following the direction of his gaze across the crowd.

"Morrigan," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Later, Tristan couldn't be sure who moved first. All he knew was that the next second, Morrigan had whirled around and was running away, with Alistair chasing hot on her heels.

"Alistair!" Tristan yelled, giving chase. He struggled through the crowd, almost instantly losing sight of the top of Alistair's blonde head. _This _was what he had been worried about. Under any normal circumstances, he knew himself to be faster than Alistair. Keeping up with the other Grey Warden should have been child's play for him. He sprinted to the end of the square, growling in frustration as he stared down the street that Alistair had disappeared down. He was no-where in sight.

_Fine_, Tristan thought, turning towards another alleyway that ran in a perpendicular direction. _I'll take the shortcut_,

He ran through the deserted ally, his booted feet clattering against the cobbled ground. He burst out into another open section – a market place – he noted distractedly, before continuing to run flat out towards a street on the opposite side. Still connected by their mutual taint, he could just barely feel Alistair's presence somewhere ahead of him. He tore through the second street, made a hairpin turn into yet another alleyway, and came out the other side into yet another square courtyard. The sight before him drew Tristan to a staggering halt. He stood rooted to the ground, staring speechlessly before him, all thoughts of Morrigan and Alistair lost.

Chained up inside an enormous, iron cage, was a dragon.

Pale golden sunlight reflected off its pitch black scales as the beast paced restlessly around the enclosure, its tail swishing back and forth like an angry cat. Enormous iron manacles were clamped around each of its legs, as well as its jaws, preventing it from sweeping its claws through the bars or trying to breathe fire. The dragon could only snarl and growl furiously at the guards standing outside of its cage. Slowly Tristan approached the cage, narrowing his eyes at the guards as he drew near.  
>"Can either of you explain to me what the meaning of this is?" he demanded, gesturing angrily towards the black dragon.<p>

The guards exchanged glances. "That's Tevinter business," one of them replied gruffly.

Tristan removed the bulging coin purse from his waist and held it aloft. The men's eyes grew eager.

"Well?" he jingled the pouch for effect.

"I suppose there's no harm in divulging a little information – if only to give the citizens piece of mind," the first guard reasoned.

"Exactly," Tristan replied evenly. He arched one brow and the first guard began talking.

"This dragon belongs to the Mages Collective,"

"What's that?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"It is an elite guild of the finest magisters in the Imperium," the second guard answered, glaring at him as though this should be common knowledge.

Tristan was unimpressed. "And what do they want with a dragon?"

"They're going to use it to seek out the last of the old gods," the first guard said, admiration clear in his voice. "The Mages Collective intends to restore the gods to their former glory by awakening them from their immortal slumbers. This dragon," he gestured towards the cave. "Is the key to finding them. Dragons, you see, can sense out the old gods in much the same way that darkspawn can,"

Tristan felt sick. His entire body had gone cold and rigid. He shook his head slightly, his eyes narrowed with disbelief. Could the magisters really be that foolish? Awaken an old god and it within days darkspawn would be pouring out of the ground to come after it. They would have another blight on their hands – just a year and a half after the conclusion of the last one. His eyes flickered back to the dragon. He had his doubts as to whether or not the beast could sense out the old gods, but he wasn't about to leave that up to fate's fickle hands. As risky as it was, he was going to have to help the dragon to escape.

He nodded his head, forced a grim smile to his lips, and dumped the pouch of gold into the guard's waiting hands.

"Thanks," he murmured, moving away.

Slowly he circled the cage, his eyes pinned on the black dragon inside. He nibbled at his bottom lip thoughtfully.

_There's only one, fast, sure way out of this one, _he told himself. He cast a hopeless glance around, furious with Alistair. He could have really used the help at that moment. Pushing aside the frustration, he summoned his mana, focusing his energy upon the cage. A moment later, a flash of bluish fire surged towards the iron bars. Shouts of panic filled the air as the bars glowed red with heat. The dragon understood what was happening instantly, and with a violent lunge it threw itself at the weakened side of the cage, bursting the iron bars apart. Panic grew to outright anarchy as men and woman screamed in hysteria, running haphazardly in any direction that would take them away from the escaping dragon. Tristan used the chaos to his advantage, drawing his sword and quickly running after one of the guardsmen. He caught up with the man half way across the open square and pressed the blade against his throat.

"The keys. Now!"

"Are you insane?" the guard yelled.

"Probably," Tristan replied evenly, pressing his sword a little harder against the guard's neck. "The keys," he repeated. A second later he caught sight of a glint of steel strapped to the man's belt. He reached down, snatched the bunch of keys up and ran back across the square. The dragon was growling angrily, fighting against its restraints. Tristan reached its side and quickly began to unlock the manacles around its feet. Later, he would realise just how reckless and dangerous a move this had been, but in the heat of the moment, he didn't give it a second thought. The dragon calmed slightly as he worked, even lowering its giant head for him to remove the clasp around its jaws. Only then did Tristan feel the first flickering of hesitation, but by then it was too late for such thoughts. The dragon was near free and battle mages were pouring into the square. With a metallic snap the last manacle fell away and the dragon was freed. Tristan swiftly backed away, gaining some distance between him and the dragon before it could realise how close he was to it. He needn't have worried. The dragon was too concerned about getting out of there to worry about him. It flared its leathery black wings and pushed itself of the ground, escaping to the skies. Tristan only had a brief moment to feel relieved before the guards suddenly turned their attention on him.

"Arrest that man!" one of them yelled.

_Crap, _

Tristan raised his sword into the air, leaving his dagger hand free for spell casting. He wasn't particularly keen on being arrested in Tevinter – their justice system would no doubt see him hanged by the morning, Grey Warden or not.

"I've had worse odds," he muttered, scanning the crowded square, hoping desperately for some sign of Alistair.

A ball of fire suddenly came rushing towards him and Tristan flinched sideways, only just avoiding it. He had almost forgotten about the battle mages.

_Double crap,_

The air filled with metallic clangs as the guards drew their blades, moving towards him. Tristan reacted instantly, and with a graceful sweep of his hands, cast a tempest over the square. Howls of pain echoed around him as jagged lightning bolts swept down from the sky. Some were killed instantly from the force of his magic; others stumbled to their feet and raised their swords, searching wildly for him. Tristan moved forwards, sword ready, adrenaline and magic humming together in his veins. Sword slicing the air with metallic hiss after hiss, he slashed his way forwards mercilessly, cutting into anyone who dared come in his path. The old lesson Duncan had once given him still held true… when it came down to it; fancy swordsmanship did no one any good when outnumbered in a fight. The best you could do was to try and cut your way out. He threw herself into a graceful sideways somersault, narrowly dodging a blade and wincing as it sliced the air where his neck had been just seconds before. One wrong step and he was doomed. He cut down another guard and sent a blast of fire towards the rest of them. They were falling fast, but more were steadily steaming into the square. No matter how hard he tried, he was going to be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes, maybe less.

It turned out to be less.

While parrying a blow from a guard in front of him, he stumbled directly back into the waiting blade of a man he had failed to notice creeping behind him. The sword sliced cleanly through the gap between his cuirass and his grieves, angled upwards into his body. White hot pain filled his body. He screamed in pain, collapsing weakly to his knees as the guard pulled his blade free. Blood poured from the wound, pooling around him. He raised his hand weakly, fumbling to heal the wound. The magic sputtered around his fingers before fading to nothing as his mana was suddenly drained from his body.

_A Templar, _he thought distantly, as he collapsed face forwards on the cobbled ground. _Since when did the Tevinter's keep Templars? _

Footsteps moved closer towards him, the sound of it strangely loud in his ringing ears, steel clattering against stone. He lifted his head weakly from the ground, the small movement sending a dizzying wave of pain rushing through him. His swimming vision caught a glimpse of black streaking from the sky… and then everything went dark.

_..._

_Wake up human, _

Tristan's eyes fluttered open, staring up at an azure blue sky high above his head. Grass prickled his cheek and he wondered what had possessed him to fall asleep outside. Scratch that. He'd settle for just knowing where he was. He sat up slowly, blinking his eyes to help adjust them to the dazzling golden sunlight that spilled over the meadow he had been sleeping in.

"What the hell?"

_You're looking better,_

He yelped at the sound of the soft, feminine voice inside his head, pushing himself to his feet and whirling around to face the source of it.

"Oh. Dear. Maker," he whispered fearfully.

Just a few feet away from him, curled up with its tail wrapped around its sleek body like some sort of giant cat, lay a dragon. _The_ dragon. Yellow gold eyes watched him interestedly as he stared back, his throat dry, his heart hammering with fear.

_You're rather skilled, for a human, _

Again, the voice came from inside his own head. He stared at the dragon suspiciously.

"Is that you?"

A soft chuckle echoed through his thoughts. _My, my. And I thought you were intelligent. After all, you did save me. That shows that you have a little more sense than those Tevinter fools,_

Tristan stumbled backwards, shaking his head wildly. "This isn't happening… This isn't real! This… This is the Fade! Or, something. I died. I know I did! This can't be real… People don't talk to dragons!" he ranted. He stumbled slightly and fell, landing heavily on his back in the grass. The dragon stood up slowly, stretching with a cat-like grace. A shadow fell across him as she moved lithely to stand over him. She lowered her spiked head, a blue spiked tongue dashing out to taste the air around him. A smell of ash and smoke surrounded him as her hot breath washed over him.

_True. People don't talk to dragons. I'm afraid you're rather a unique case,_

"U-unique?" he stammered. "W-why am I unique?"

_Because I saved you. You're right. You _did_ die. And you would still be dead were it not for me, _

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his curiosity slowly overcoming his fear. "Why? Why would you save me. And more importantly… how?"

_The how? A blood bond. I tied your life to mine. It's a parasitic connection of sorts, but your meagre life doesn't demand much of my energy. I can sustain you. The why? A little more complicated. I guess you can say I felt that I owed you. And besides, someone needs to put a stop to the Mages Collective before they actually manage to succeed with their mission,_

Tristan's brow furrowed as he remembered. "You're right. If they managed to catch you, then what's stopping them from catching another dragon and trying again. Hey wait a second, can you really find the old gods?"

The dragon laughed again. _You're not as timid as I first thought. And yes, we dragons are connected to the ancients, or 'old gods', as you call them. We can sense them,_

"Oh wonderful," he muttered sarcastically. He gathered his knees beneath him, inching slightly back from the dragon's head before slowly rising to his feet. "You sure you're not planning on eating me?" he asked, a little nervously.

_You're hardly much of a meal, _the dragon replied, with a soft, derisive snort. _Trust me human, I didn't go to all the effort of forming a blood bond with you, only to devour you mere hours later,_

"Good to know," he murmured, raking one hand nervously through his raven hair as he stared at the beast. He chewed at his bottom lip, considering it. "I need to get back to Ferelden. The Grey Wardens need to hear about this,"

_You can't go back to Minathrous. They'd have your head before you could get near the city, _

"Then I'll need to travel south, across land. I have connections in Orlais. I could arrange a crew and a ship from there to get me back to Denerim,"

_We'll need to go together, human. Unfortunately if you intend to keep that precious life of yours, you'll have to stay near to me. The connection would become too weak to sustain you otherwise, _

Tristan stilled in surprise. "And once I've dealt with the Mage's Collective? Once your vested interest in me is over? I'm sure you don't intend to be my shadow for the rest of your life,"

The dragon stared at him silently.

Tristan nodded his head. "I get it. I get it. My life is on loan. Makes sense," he added darkly. He had fully expected to die a year and a half ago when he had slain the arch demon. His surviving it had been a Maker-damned miracle, one he still didn't understand. It made sense that Death would find a way to collect him after all.

The dragon lowered herself to the ground, stretching one paw towards him.

_Climb on my back, human. We can travel faster if we fly, _

Tristan hesitated, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. "Fly?"

_Yes, fly. Now come on. It's a quite a journey to Orlais,_

Slowly, hands trembling slightly, he moved towards the dragon. He placed a hand on her paw, feeling her soft, cool scales beneath his fingers. Carefully he clambered up onto her leg, then hoisted himself up onto her back, resting between her shoulders. She shifted slightly beneath him, accustoming herself to his weight.

"What's with all this 'human' stuff? I have a name," Tristan pointed out, as she flared her massive black wings. His heart was thundering in his chest, racing so fast he thought he might faint. She paused for a moment, granting him the brief moment he needed to get his fear under control.

_A name? Humans have names? _

"Uh-huh," he said quickly, hoping to distract her for a little longer. He wasn't feeling particularly keen to try out flying. "Mine is Tristan. What's yours?"

_Umbra. My name is Umbra,_ she replied. Then, without warning, she flapped her wings once, pushed off from the ground and swept them up into the sky.

_A/N: Okay… so… obviously I am diving into some major AU here what with Morrigan and Alistair having a romance and a talking dragon. Hopefully you all will forgive me for my craziness. =)_

_If you feel like reassuring me and dropping a review, I would really appreciate it. Really getting nervous as this story begins to branch away on its own direction. _


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: **__Hey guys… So so sorry for the long wait! My life caught up with me… woops. I'm studying to be a vet so the work load can sometimes start to drown me. Anyway, I typed this out while I was supposed to be studying (I know, I know, not good) so forgive me for any mistakes _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted. U guys are so super awesome!_

**Chapter 15**

_Something's in the air tonight,_

_The sky's alive with the burning light,_

_Come mark my words,_

_Something's about to break._

_And I found myself in a bitter fight,_

_When I held your hand through the darkest night,_

_Don't know where you're coming from,_

_But you're coming soon._

_-Mat Kearney, Nothing Left to Lose._

It was sunset by the time Sonja managed to return the _Kalipsa _back into the docks of Kirkwall. A waning sun had cast its rays upon the sea that stretched across the horizon, causing the water to sparkle and dance with red light, as though a million rubies had been scattered into the bay. The Twins of Kirkwall loomed up ahead, impassively guarding the shadowy pass through the cliffs. Parish bit her bottom lip as she guided the craft safely through the passage, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand and not the fact that she had left an injured Tristan somewhere along the shores of the Wounded Coast.

_Maker, _she silently pleaded. _Please let him be safe, _

"What happened out there, Parish?" Luke had stepped up into the wheelhouse to talk to her. Sonja didn't turn to look at him, knowing that she could never lie to him while looking him in the eye.

"I don't know," she whispered, silently begging him to drop it. She released her tight grip on the wheel, flexing her fingers to ease away the tension in the joints. The _Kalipsa _sidled up alongside the jetty and the crew began hurriedly securing her to the docks and lowering the gangplank. They were nervous; she knew each of them well enough to see the fear lurking in their expressions. None of them would have understood what was happening to Tristan. She turned back to Luke, staring into his worried dark eyes.  
>"I'm going to find Reynold and tell him what happened. Will you take care of things here for me? Keep the crew settled?"<p>

"Of course," Luke nodded his head and Sonja was suddenly reminded why he was her best friend. As annoying and childish as he could sometimes be, she could always count on him to be there for her when she needed him.

"Thanks Luke,"

She turned quickly towards the gangplank, forcing herself to walk and not run away from the ship. It wouldn't do the crew any good to see her lose it. It was only once she had reached the top of the stairs that led away from the docks and was safely out of sight of the _Kalipsa_ that she broke into a run. Captain Reynold would either be at the Hanged Man, or the Blooming Rose. The Hanged Man was closer, so Sonja headed for it first. The heavy scent of alcohol, blood and excrement washed over her as she slipped in through the door. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. How Tristan could spend most of his time in a dump like this was beyond her. The place was filthy. Her eyes flickered over the patrons in the bar, a wave of relief washing through her as she caught sight of the Captain seated at a table near the bar.

"Parish!" Reynold greeted her as she neared his table, his heavy brows furrowing as he caught sight of her expression. "What's happened?"

"It's Tristan… Something happened while we were out on the _Kalipsa_," Sonja sat down in the chair beside him as she spoke, leaning into him so that they wouldn't be overheard. "He started crying out in pain and then he just collapsed. He was…He was holding his amulet,"

Reynold's dark eyes widened. "Umbra?" he muttered. Parish nodded grimly.

"I think something happened to her,"

"Where is he?" Reynold demanded sharply.

"He jumped ship and swam to shore," Sonja said, uncomfortably avoiding his angry gaze.

"You _left _him there!" the Captain growled.

"There was nothing I could do!" she protested quickly. "Isabela dove in after him, leaving me at the helm. I couldn't even lower a row boat in after him! The waves and the rocks out there would have reduced it to splinters!"

"The crew?" Reynold asked quietly. "What did they make of this?"

Sonja shook her head. "They're worried, but none of them have any idea of what really happened. We can come up with something to tell them later… Right now we need to find Tristan," she pushed herself to her feet, staring down at Reynold expectantly. "I'm not going to leave him out there. Are you coming with me?"

Reynold's eyes flickered to the doorway and he shook his head. "That won't be necessary,"

Sonja felt her temper flare. "What do you mean not 'necessary'? He's out there somewhere! He could be dying! He could be…" she trailed off, following the direction of Reynold's gaze to the doorway. "Tristan," she breathed, catching sight of the bedraggled Warden Commander as he and Isabela stepped inside the tavern. The pirate headed straight towards the bar, her expression grim. Tristan's blue eyes fell upon Sonja and he walked towards their table. Parish ran towards him, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. She buried her face inside his damp shirt, her shoulders shaking with relief.

"You got back safely," Tristan murmured, hugging her back. "Good. I was worried about you,"

"You were worried about me?" Sonja demanded incredulously, pulling slightly away from him to stare up into his eyes. "I thought you were going to _die_," she lifted her hand between them and punched his chest angrily. "Don't ever do that to me again!"

"I'm fine, Parish," he said reassuringly. "Look, not even a scratch,"

"Give him some air, Parish," Reynold said gruffly from behind her. Sonja blushed, realising that she had been holding onto Tristan for far longer than was strictly necessary. She released him quickly, stepping back to create some distance between them. She stumbled into the back of a wooden chair and quickly sat down upon it, her face burning with embarrassment. Tristan – damn him! – just stared at her in bemusement.

"Does she know?" Reynold asked quietly, jerking his head towards where Isabela stood. One glance at the Rivaini pirate was enough to convince Sonja that she did. Isabela's face was unusually pale, and she was staring into the contents of her mug with a vacant, far-away expression. Her hands trembled as she lifted the alcohol to her lips. Tristan sat down heavily into the seat next to Sonja, raking his hand back through his dark hair in frustration.

"Yea," he admitted wearily. "I had to tell her. I had no choice,"

_Wonderful, _Sonja thought angrily. _How long can Tristan keep this a secret when _she _knows about it? _

She didn't know the pirate very well, but she had spent enough time in her company to tell that the woman was an insatiable gossip. She and Varric were a match made by the Maker himself. Neither of them knew how to hold onto a secret.

"Will she tell?" Reynold probed.

_Of course she will_, Parish glared across at her Captain. How could he be so dense? Abigail Hawke was Isabela's best friend. She would be the first person the pirate would tell. _You can trust Abby, _she told herself reassuringly. And she believed it. Abby was cut from the same cloth as Tristan; she would understand. But many people wouldn't. If the Chantry had to get wind of the magical connection he had formed between him and Umbra… she shuddered. There was no telling what their twisted faith might convince them needed to be done.

"I don't know," Tristan replied softly, his gaze now fixed on Isabela. His lips twisted into a humourless smile. "She's not exactly taking it too well. Dragons and old magic don't seem to be her forte,"

Parish rolled her steel grey eyes. "She's a _pirate, _Amell. What did you expect?"

"She doesn't agree with what I did… But I don't think she's going to say anything. I can't be sure she won't mention it to Abby though,"

"I guess we'll just have to trust her," Reynold sighed. He turned back to Tristan. "What exactly happened out there, anyway?"

Tristan's expression suddenly clouded with worry. "Abigail and the others ran into Umbra while out on the wounded coast. They attacked her, she was forced to defend herself, and by the time I got there no one was looking too good. I didn't realise my cousin and her band of misfits were such apt little dragon slayers," he added darkly. "If I hadn't gotten there when I did there's no telling what might have happened,"

"Is Umbra okay?" Parish asked, concern flooding her features. Tristan nodded.

"I managed to heal her before she flew off. I still want to take a second look at her though, make sure she's alright. I think I'll head up Sundermount tomorrow to talk to her. This was the last straw though Reynold," he added, turning towards the Captain. "This was my fault. We never should have stayed here as long as we have. I need to get back to Ferelden. I need to make sure Alistair made it back safely on his own. I have to find a way to stop the Mage's Collective before they go and capture themselves another dragon. I don't have time to waste playing families," he muttered angrily.

"None of this is your fault, Tristan," Sonja whispered, touching his arm gently. In truth she was grateful to hear that they would be leaving again, being stuck here in Kirkwall had started to drive her crazy. The mere thought of setting sail and never returning to this Maker-forsaken city had her heart pounding with excitement. Still, she knew how much Tristan's new-found family meant to him. It wasn't fair for him to punish himself, just for wanting to get to know them.

"I should go check on Abigail," Tristan sighed. He raked his fingers back through his hair again. "She didn't exactly come out of that fight unscathed. I should make sure she's okay,"

"I'll go with you," Sonja offered. He smiled at her gratefully, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flutter restlessly.

"Come on," he pushed himself to his feet. "The sooner I find her, the sooner I can relax. I just want this Maker-damned day to end,"

"I'll go and check on the crew," Reynold told him, lifting his mug to his lips and draining the last of his whiskey. "I'll make up some story or other to keep them happy,"

"Thanks Reynold," Tristan murmured. "Tell the crew to be ready to set sail by evening tomorrow. That should give me enough time to say my goodbyes to everyone,"

The Captain nodded his agreement, his eyes holding a gleam of relief. Tristan motioned Sonja ahead of him with a sweep of his arm, placing his hand against the small of her back as he guided them through the maze of scattered tables and chairs that separated them from the door. Isabela lifted her head towards them as they left, and a look passed briefly between her and Tristan, before the pirate turned her head away, frowning. The Warden groaned softly.

"She's angry at me," he murmured, pushing the door to the bar open and stepping outside into the hazy evening twilight. Parish glanced back at him.

"What reason would she have to be angry with you?"

Tristan sighed. "For putting Abigail in danger. She accused me of being more worried about the dragon than I was about my cousin,"

"You said before that Hawke has killed dragons. You have a right to be protective of Umbra, Tristan. It's not just her life that was at stake today. Yours was too," she protested.

He nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Isabela has a point though, Parish. I've been selfish. Keeping Umbra here is putting everyone in danger right now,"

"You care," Sonja said suddenly, a stab of pain in her heart accompanying her words. She stopped, turning to face him. "You care about Isabela, don't you? You care what she thinks. You care about _her_,"

Tristan shook his head, his blue eyes unable to meet her gaze. "It's not like that Parish," he murmured. "We're just friends. Yes, I like her – maybe more than I should – but it will never be anything more than that,"

"Why?" she whispered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Because she would run like hell," Tristan replied, his words almost a sigh of defeat. "And because I'm leaving. It wouldn't work,"

"But you want it to," she persisted, her voice almost accusing. She couldn't understand why she didn't just stop, just let it go. His quiet admissions were only hurting her more. She was almost deliberately poking at her own emotions, the way one would press a finger to a bruise to test how much it hurt.

Tristan shook his head, his blue eyes shuttering, becoming distant.

"It doesn't matter what _I _want Sonja," he replied, the use of her first name a clear indication that she had started to annoy him. "We don't all get to be like Alistair," he added scathingly. "We don't all get to run off across the world chasing after our happily ever after,"

"Tristan?" a soft voice called him from across the deserted street, causing the dark-haired Warden to stiffen in surprise, the anger ebbing away from his face. Sonja whirled around to face the owner of the voice, and was surprise to see Leandra Hawke walking towards them, arm in arm with a steely haired man.

"Leandra," Tristan smiled at her, moving closer. "What are you doing here at this time of the evening? It's not safe, you know," he added in concern, casting an apprehensive glance around as he spoke.

Leandra gave him a fond smile. "You worry too much," she replied, waving away his words with an idle wave of her free hand. She shifted closer to the man beside her, her smile growing nervous. "I suppose I should introduce you," she tilted her head up to her companion and he smiled genially in response. "Quen, I would like you to meet my nephew Tristan Amell. Tristan, meet Quen. My, uh… friend," she added, a slight blush staining her cheeks. Sonja smiled at the pair of them.

_At least someone is happy, _she thought wistfully. _It's not like Leandra doesn't deserve it. Maker knows she's been through enough, _

But apparently the same thoughts weren't going through Tristan's head, because he stiffened even further, his cobalt blue eyes darkening with apparent suspicion.

"Your friend?" he echoed slowly, his narrowed gaze now pinned to the older man, who shifted slightly beneath the intensity of the Warden's glare. "And what exactly are you and your _friend _doing in Lowtown at this time of night?"

"Tristan!" Leandra gasped, her brow furrowing. "Dear Maker, I expected this sort of hostility from Abigail but certainly not from you,"

"Not to worry Leandra," Quen said soothingly, his smile still firmly in place. "I'm glad to see that your family cares so much about you. The boy has every right to worry. This city isn't very safe," he turned back to Tristan. "Which is why I insisted she allow me to escort her to her brother's house for their weekly visit. I couldn't bear the thought of her walking through Lowtown alone,"

Parish reached out and pinched Tristan's arm, hard. He jerked, wincing in pain. "What was that for?" he hissed.

"You're being rude," she replied.

Leandra chuckled. "At least someone is on my side! Thank you Parish," she added, smiling gratefully at her. A little of the tension seemed to ease from Tristan's shoulders and his lips twitched into a smile.

"I'm sorry Leandra," he murmured. "And Quen, I did not mean to offend," he added, glancing back at the older man. "I'm sure you have my aunt's best interests at heart,"

Leandra leaned forwards, pressing a swift kiss to her nephew's cheek. "You and Abigail really are two of a kind," she said affectionately. "You both worry far too much. I'll see you later on this evening, my dear boy. You are coming to dinner, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Tristan assured her.

"And Parish, I insist you come as well. The more the merrier," Leandra added.

"That's very generous," Sonja replied, smiling happily at the thought of an entire evening spent in Tristan's company. She'd missed spending time with him lately.

"Good. That's settled," Leandra patted Quen's arm. "We should be going. It's getting dark,"

Quen nodded his agreement. "Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you Tristan," he said. "And you, Parish," he added.

Tristan shifted uncomfortably as they watched the pair walk away, his expression darkening. Parish gave him a slight shove to get his attention.  
>"Oh come on! Your aunt dating can't be <em>so <em>bad, can it? Doesn't she deserve to find someone?"

"Not that guy," Tristan growled.

"Why not?"

He turned towards her, his cobalt eyes shimmering with uneasiness. "He's a mage Parish. An apostate, and a powerful one from what I could gather,"

Sonja laughed. "Tristan, come on! Not every mage is evil incarnate. You should know that better than anyone!" she grabbed his arm and gave it a firm tug, forcing him to continue walking down the street leading to Hightown. "And besides, we already know your aunt has a thing for mages. It makes sense that she would pick another one out as a suitor. You should be happy that she's happy,"

Tristan gave her a sidelong glance. "I never knew you were such a closet romantic Parish," he grumbled. "First Isabela and me, now Leandra and Quen... This isn't looking good for your hard-assed reputation," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. She glared up at him.

"I _never _said you and Isabela should get together. I was just asking how you felt about her,"

"Well good," Tristan grinned. "The last thing I need is you trying to play matchmaker. Besides, I don't need another girl. I've already got you,"

Sonja groaned inwardly. _Yes you do Tristan, _she silently sighed. _Now why don't you _do _something about it? _She couldn't help but think back on Leandra's happy expression as she had walked away with Quen. _Really_, Sonja thought, _the woman has no idea how lucky she is_.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_And I told you to be patient,_

_And I told you to be fine,_

_And I told you to be balanced,_

_And I told you to be kind._

_And in the morning I'll be with you,_

_But it will be a different kind. _

_Cus I'll be holding all the tickets,_

_And you'll be owning all the fines._

_-Birdy, Skinny Love._

White smoke billowed upwards from the funeral pyre, rising steadily to join the dismal grey clouds that hung overhead. A light, almost misty rain drifted down upon the sombre crowd collected around the burning pile of wood, combining forces with the icy wind that was blowing in from the reckless grey sea and creating a chill in the air that the orange blaze before them could do nothing to temper. The smell of incense and burning flesh hung thick and heavy over the stretch of beach where the funeral was taking place, and Abigail resisted the urge to choke as the smoke burned uncomfortably in her throat. Her red-rimmed eyes were starting to burn, but she couldn't bring herself to blink, or look away. It had been her idea to cremate the body, the _thing _that was her mother. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her that way. Gamlen had wanted a grave, a tombstone, something to remember her by. Abigail wanted only to forget.

A gentle hand clasped her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, and she glanced up into Aveline's sombre green eyes.

"It's over," the guard captain said gently, and for the first time Abigail realised that the Chantry priest had finished her prayers for Leandra's soul and left, followed by most of the people who had come to witness the cremation. Only a handful of people remained, largely consisting of her small band of rag-tag friends, as well as Tristan, Sonja and the Captain of his ship, and lastly Gamlen, who had stood at the back of the crowd the entire time, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

_Over? _Abby thought, the word echoing inside her head. She shook her head slightly. It would never be over. Things would never be the same.

"Do you want to leave?" Aveline asked, concern flooding her features. "You should eat something,"

"I'm not hungry," Hawke whispered, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Her blue eyes flickered back to the burning pyre. She felt cold, chilled to the bone, as though she would never feel warm again. This all felt like some strange nightmare she couldn't seem to escape.

"Hawke…"

"Just leave me alone," she hissed, her voice coming out sharper than she had intended. Aveline's hand jerked away from her shoulder.

"Give her some space," Varric muttered, moving closer. He glanced up at her. "We'll give you some time alone with her,"

She nodded gratefully as he moved on, walking back along the short stretch of isolated beach towards the city. Isabela followed him swiftly, a gleam of relief in her gold eyes. The rest left slowly, each casting pitying glances towards her as they passed. Abby kept her eyes on the burning pyre, refusing to meet anyone's eye. Sonja was the last to go, leaving Abigail, Gamlen and Tristan alone on the beach. For several minutes the crash of the waves, the crackle of the fire and the sound of her uncle's stifled cries were the only sounds that filled the air.

"_It's my fault," _

Abby's eyes fell closed as the memory of Tristan's soft admission flared to life.

"_What do you mean?" she had whispered, glancing up at him with tear stained eyes. He was standing in the doorway, his broad-shouldered frame silhouetted by the candle-lit brightness in the hallway beyond her shadowy room. She wished he would come closer, sit on the edge of her bed, take her into his arms and let her cry into his shoulder. But he just stood there, staring at her. _

"_I knew something was wrong. I could have done something. I could have stopped him," he told her, his voice harsh with anger. _

_His words froze her. She stiffened, her blue eyes widening as she stared at him, his words ringing through her head. Was it true? Was this all his fault? Was he the reason her mother was dead? At the last thought she was already shaking her head, her mind instinctively rebelling from the idea. She pushed herself to her feet, gripping the bed-post to steady herself. _

"_No," her voice was surprising calm. She shook her head. "Not you. This isn't your fault. It can't be,"_

"_Abigail…" he breathed, shifting backwards, moving further away from her. Light spilled across his features, revealing the anguish and guilt on his face. "I'm sorry,"_

"_No!" she repeated, her voice louder, angry. "Don't say that. The only person responsible is the man I killed tonight. You… you…" she broke off, her breathing ragged, tears slipping unchecked down her cheeks. "Damn it Tristan… Don't do this to me. Don't leave me,"_

"_How can you possibly want me to stay?" he demanded, shaking his head. "After what I did… How can you not hate me…?"_

"_You're all I have left__!" she screamed. He flinched, his angry protests dying on his lips. "Don't you see?" she whispered, her voice almost a sob. "I can't lose you… Please. This wasn't your fault. Just say it. I need to hear you say it," _

"_I can't do that," he said quietly. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I could have done something Abigail. I _should _have done something. I can't change that. I wish I could. Maker… I would do anything to go back,"_

"_No…" she shook her head desperately. "Stop it…"_

_He stepped back into the room, finally moving towards her. A few moments ago she would have given anything for him to hold her, now she suddenly found she couldn't bear to look at him. She recoiled from him, shaking her head violently. _

"_Get out,"_

"_Abby…"_

"_Get out!" she screamed. "Just leave! That's what you want, isn't it? Well go! Get the hell out! Just leave me alone!" she reached forwards, shoving him backwards, her small hands slamming against his chest. He stepped backwards and she followed, punching his chest with as much force as she could muster. Pain shot through her arm at the force of it, but she ignored it, striking him again and again, her fists pelting against his chest until her knuckles were raw and red and her arms were numb from fatigue. Tristan stood silently throughout it all, his head bowed in defeat, his shoulders slumped as he accepted the attack. She fell against his chest in exhaustion, sobbing brokenly. His shirt was soaked with her salty tears by the time he finally lifted his hands, tentatively wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his embrace. She gripped his shirt in her fists and clung to him. _

"_She's gone," she whimpered eventually. She felt Tristan nod. _

"_I know,"_

"_It's not your fault," she added. _

"_Abigail," he protested softly, stiffening against her. _

"_It's not," she whispered again fiercely. "She told me about him. Weeks ago. She wanted me to meet him, but I never had the time. I never bothered. This is my fault too," she lifted her head, gazing up into his eyes, meeting cobalt irises that were identical to her own. "And its Gamlen's fault, for dragging her down to Lowtown every week because he was too stubborn to visit us in Hightown. We're all responsible,"_

"_It's not the same,"_

"_It is to me," she replied. "I can't… I can't start blaming people Tristan…I don't want that. It'll drive me insane. I don't want to lose you too,"_

"_You're not going to lose me," he reassured her quietly. "I'll stay here as long as you need me to,"_

"_That's not good enough," Abby said suddenly, impulsively. "I want to go with you,"_

_Surprise flickered across Tristan's handsome features. "Wait, what?"_

"_You heard me. I want to go with you. You're not leaving me here alone,"_

_Tristan stepped backwards, releasing her from his loose hold. "Abby wait a second. You're not thinking clearly…"_

"_I don't care," she snapped. "You're not leaving me," she repeated, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "You can't," _

"_Kirkwall is your home," he said softly. "You have friends here. You have a life here. I can't take you from this Abby. It wouldn't be right,"_

"_I don't want to be here," she whispered, tears spilling onto her damp cheeks. "I _can't _be here,"_

_He moved closer again, drawing her back into his arms. "You don't have to decide right now," he murmured. "After the funeral, okay? If you still want to leave then, then I'll take you with me – no questions asked. I promise,"_

A soft touch on her arm brought Abby sharply back to the present. She turned around, meeting her uncle's bloodshot gaze, startled to find him standing just behind her. He reached a hand out towards her, trembling fingers brushing strands of ebony hair back from her face. She flinched at the touch. She had never been close to her uncle. He had never felt like family to her. She had never felt anything remotely warm or affectionate towards him, had never experienced a rush of familiarity and sense of belonging upon finding herself in his presence. The only real emotion she had ever felt towards him had been anger or contempt. He was almost nothing to her. So it came as something of a shock to her to realise that he didn't seem to feel the same about her. His eyes were filled with uncharacteristic warmth as he softly touched her face, his fingers tentatively tracing the line of her jaw.

"You always looked just like her," he whispered.

Abby jerked away, shuddering at his words. She knew too well just how much she looked like her mother. She saw Leandra's face reflected in her own features every time she glanced in a mirror.

"Gamlen," she muttered, shaking her head. "Don't…"

He nodded his head, stepping back, the emotion shuttering from his eyes, leaving only resignation in his dark gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured, glancing away. Abby swallowed down the guilt rising within her. She couldn't do it. Not even her mother's death was enough to forge a bond between her and her shady uncle. She couldn't take Leandra's place to keep Gamlen from drowning in his inner darkness. She was finding it hard enough to keep herself afloat. Silently he left, walking the same stretch of lonely shore that the others had disappeared along. For the first time that morning, Abby glanced across at her cousin. He was still staring at the funeral pyre, the orange glow of the flames reflected in his eyes. His expression was guarded, unreadable, almost emotionless. The guilt was still there though, lingering just beneath the surface of his apathetic composure. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, slipping her hand into his as she reached his side. He glanced down at her.

"You okay?"

She shook her head, tears rising in her eyes at the mere question. He winced.

"Sorry, stupid thing to ask," he squeezed her fingers in apology. He turned back towards the funeral pyre and Abby followed his gaze. The flames were still blazing fiercely, consuming the last remains of her mother. A part of her wanted to stay, to wait until nothing was left but ash, but another, stronger part of her was desperate to escape. Even after hours of enduring it, she still wasn't completely immune to the sickening combination of scents lingering in the air.

"I haven't changed my mind," she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Tristan's nod. He had given up trying to convince her to stay. "When are you going to tell them?"

"Tomorrow. I'll tell them tomorrow," she gave him a sidelong glance. "When are we leaving?"

"The ship is ready to leave whenever you wish," Tristan said softly. "We can still wait a few days more if you'd like,"

"No," she shook her head sharply. "I just want to go," she dropped his hand, turning away, finally granting herself permission to escape. A few moments later, Tristan turned too, following on behind her. She paused once she had reached the rocky pathway that led back towards Kirkwall, waiting for him to catch up. She didn't dare allow her eyes to wander back down the strand, or allow herself to dwell on the fact that she was leaving her mother behind. Tristan took her hand again as he fell into step beside her, his fingers squeezing hers gently as she began to silently sob. She clung to him tightly, leaning her weight against him as he led her away.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: If there are any mistakes, I apologize. I've had such a block lately, haven't been able to write anything. Finally managed to write this chapter today because I'm heading back to university on Saturday and I realised I have to get something out before I get too busy to even look at my computer screen. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed and favourited. It really means a lot to me that you guys are still following this story. _

**Chapter 17**

_Is anybody out there?_

_Is anybody listening? _

_Does anybody really know if it's the end or the beginning?_

_The quiet rush of one breath,_

_Is all we're waiting for,_

_Sometimes the one we're taking, _

_Changes everyone before._

_It's everything you wanted,_

_It's everything you don't,_

_It's one door swinging open,_

_And one door swinging closed. _

_Some prayers find an answer,_

_Some prayers never know,_

_We're holding on_

_And letting go._

_-Ross Copperman, Holding On and Letting Go. _

Tristan Amell greeted the new dawn from several hundred feet above the ground. Salty air whipped around him, burrowing under his doublet with cold fingers, brushing strands of ebony hair across his eyes. The sky was an impressionist's artwork of ochre and rose light as the sun's first rays peaked over the horizon, reflecting against a deep blue sea in dazzling golden ripples. He was seated comfortably astride Umbra's back, his legs tucked up above her leathery black wings, hugging her muscular body with practiced ease. His cobalt eyes were unfocused, distant, as a thousand worried thoughts drifted through his head.

_You're troubled, _Umbra said gently, tilting her head slightly backwards as she flew and regarding him out of the corner of one yellow-gold eye. Tristan nodded his head, sighing.

"I keep thinking about Leandra," he confessed. "Her death. What happened that night… I could have done something,"

Umbra snorted at his words, tossing her head. The bond between them forced her to feel his emotions as her own, so she knew better than anyone what he was going through, but she could not understand it. Dragons were not used to experiencing loss. They were solitary beasts, most of whom formed no lasting bonds throughout the course of their incredibly long lives.

_This wasn't your fault,_ she insisted quietly. _You cannot punish yourself for what happened, _

_You've lived for hundreds of years Umbra, _he silently replied. _Is there nothing that you've done that you do not wish you could take back? _

The dragon gave a low growl of frustration and Tristan's lips quirked in amusement as he realised that she was perhaps the wrong person to talk to about such things. Umbra was not the type to worry or reflect. She was impulsive, driven by desire and emotion. A rarity among dragons. Most of her kind would love nothing more than to spend days, if not months at a time, considering the philosophies of life and all its complexities.

_Dear gods human!_ she snapped. _What would be the point? What's done is done. The past cannot be reversed. There is no sense in worrying over it! _She flicked her tail, arched her back and suddenly dived downwards, sending them both spiralling towards the ground. Tristan grinned, clinging tighter to the dragon's scaly body as they fell towards the wide expanse of blue sea beneath them. Umbra waited until the last possible moment before pulling out of the dive, sending them skimming across the ocean swells. Tristan let out an exuberant laugh as the tips of her wings dipped into the salty water and a fine misty spray drenched his skin. Umbra let out an answering cry, and the sound of her joyful roar echoed around the crags of Sundermount. Worries melted away as they slipped back into the ever-lightening sky and Umbra continued her antics, twisting and spiralling in a series of complicated loops. Where Tristan had once been terrified of flying, he was now addicted to it. Everything else paled in comparison to the feeling of soaring through the sky. He had sought her out for this very reason that morning, desperate to escape the weight of his emotions and fears, even if only for a few hours.

"I should be getting back," he sighed eventually, his heart immediately growing heavy as he thought back to the day ahead. He had promised Hawke that he would stop by her mansion and help her pack.

_A mistake, _he thought miserably. _She's only running away,_

Umbra made a lazy loop back towards Kirkwall, the beat of her sleek leather wings nearly silent beneath the rush of the wind around them.

"Don't land too close to the city," he cautioned the dragon. "We don't need to cause any more trouble around here,"

_I'm really starting to dislike this place, _Umbra replied. _The sooner we leave the better, _

"Trust me I know," he sighed. "Ferelden is better,"

_We need to be heading back to the Imperium, _Umbra thought back, her wings flaring slightly as she descended to the shore. They landed with an audible thud on the beach, white gold sand spraying haphazardly around them. _Or have you forgotten what those mages are planning? _

"Of course I haven't forgotten," Tristan sighed, slipping down from her back. Umbra dipped her head towards him, regarding him with ageless golden eyes. "Look, as soon as we get back to Ferelden we're going to start figuring out a way to deal with this. I promise," he reached his hand up, gently stroking her muzzle. "Stay safe,"

He moved backwards and Umbra took off once more, swiftly ascending into the morning sky. Tristan watched her until she was nothing more than a speck in his vision before turning and heading back towards the city. He took his time, his feet carrying him back along the rocky pathways without much conscious thought.

Each time he closed his eyes, an image of Leandra would flicker to life. He would remember her smiling, eager face as she introduced him to her murderer, remember the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach as he had stared into that man's empty, soulless eyes… and then, then he would remember her changed. Grey skin, dead eyes and a smile that held no blame.

An eternity of soaring high up on Umbra's back would never be enough to chase away the memory of that night.

A familiar voice from up ahead suddenly drifted towards him, distracting him from his reverie. He froze, startled to find Isabela standing on one of the meandering pathways on the ledge below. She wasn't alone. A shadow of a man stood beside her, reed thin and clad in an assortment of well-worn dirt stained clothes. Instinctively Tristan crouched down behind the shelter of several pockmarked boulders to conceal himself, straining his ears against the rush of the wind to hear their whispered exchange.

"You're sure it's the right one?" Isabela muttered. "You've been wrong before, Jeremy,"

The man beside her, Jeremy, nodded his head. "I'm sure, okay? It's not like there's dozens of Qunari relics running around Kirkwall. There's going to be an exchange tonight,"

"Where?"

"A foundry in Lowtown. That's all I know. The Tevinter Magisters will be there to pick it up,"

"Does anyone else know about this?" Isabela demanded.

Jeremy gave her a pointed look. "If I know about it, you can be sure there are a dozen others out there too. Way I hear it, this damn book is worth its weight in gold,"

"It's worth more than that," the pirate sighed. "This thing is going to save my skin," she reached for a coin purse at her side, handing it across to the thug without bothering to glance inside. "Thanks Jem,"

He pocketed the small leather pouch without comment, nodded his head once, turned and continued walking down the pathway to Kirkwall, leaving Isabela alone. She dropped her head into her hands, cursing softly. Tristan straightened, moved out from his hiding place and gracefully vaulted down from the rocky ledge he had been walking upon, landing with a thud on the path below. Isabela's head jerked up, golden brown eyes wide and startled.

"What are you doing out here?" she demanded, her eyes flickering about in alarm, as though trying to gauge where he had come from and how much he would have been able to overhear of her conversation.

"Last time I checked," he began, ignoring her question, "the Qunari didn't like sharing. So whatever this relic is, I suggest you leave it the hell alone,"

"You were spying on me?" she growled, her expression darkening.

"Don't be an idiot, Bela. Whatever it is you're planning, it's not worth your life,"

"That's where you're wrong," she snapped. "This thing _is _worth my life. There is someone out there who is willing to kill me if I don't get it back for him,"

"Castillon, you mean?" Tristan replied. "Abigail told me about all about your little dilemma," he added, catching sight of Isabela's disconcerted expression. The pirate folded her arms across her chest.

"Let me guess… You're going to tell me that I have to give this relic back to the Qunari, or you'll make me do it. Is that how this is going to work?" she demanded.

"You really think I would do something that would get you hurt?" he replied, his voice quiet. Isabela stilled, the anger rapidly fading from her face, melting into uncertainty. "If this relic is going to get that mercenary away from you, then it's yours – no questions asked," he continued. "We'll go to the foundry together tonight,"

"You would do that for me?"

Tristan nodded his head. "Yea, I would. But I want you to do something for me too,"

Gold eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's that?"

"At dawn tomorrow, I'm leaving Kirkwall. I want you to come with me, Bela,"

"You…" her eyes widened as the full impact of what he had said hit her. "On your ship, you mean?"

A slight grin flickered across his features. "Nah, I figured you could swim on behind," he teased her.

She smacked his arm. "Come on! Be serious here for a moment,"

"I want you to come with me," he repeated. "On my ship. You can't pretend that after tonight you won't want to get as far away from Kirkwall as possible,"

"Perhaps," she shrugged one shoulder, still watching him carefully. "But why do _you _want me?"

Lazily he reached for her, his fingers curling around her arm and gently tugging her closer. She moved forwards willingly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Maybe I don't want to say goodbye. Not yet,"

She smiled at his words. "Why not?"

"Because when I'm around you, I finally get to feel like myself," he answered truthfully. "Not a mage, not a Grey Warden, not the Hero of Ferelden, just me. You have no idea how refreshing that is. You're the only person I've ever known who doesn't treat people differently based on _what_ they are, and I love that about you,"

She visibly flinched at his last statement, panic flickering across her features.

"Tristan…" she said quickly, a note of warning in her voice.

His hand dropped away, releasing his hold on her. "Just think about it," he said. "Hawke is coming too," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Hawke's leaving Kirkwall?" Isabela sounded stunned.

Tristan nodded. "Just for a while… She wants to get away for a bit. I think she'd enjoy having you with her,"

"I'll think about it," the pirate shrugged. "Can I still count on you for tonight?"

He grinned, feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel. _I'll think about it_, really wasn't good enough for him. He couldn't begin explain, even to himself, this sudden, desperate desire he had not to let her go. He had told himself a thousand times that it would never work. She was too free-spirited, adventurous, reckless and impulsive to hang onto. And yet it was these very traits about her that kept drawing him in, traits that he couldn't help but admire and love. She was everything he had once been before he had been made a Grey Warden and the weight of the world had suddenly been dumped upon his unwilling shoulders. He wasn't ready to lose the one person he had to remind him that life wasn't all about responsibility.

"You can always count on me," he reassured her.

She smirked at him. "I'll remember that," she said warningly.

He nodded his head, his expression turning serious once more. "You should. Come on," he added, waving his hand in the general direction of the city. "I promised Hawke I'd hang around Hightown today to help her pack up,"

"_Fun,_" Isabela remarked jadedly, rolling her eyes as she fell into step beside him. "You know, if we're leaving… We should have a going away party or something,"

Tristan laughed. "You mean we should all get together at the Hanged Man and drink ourselves into a stupor? Guess what, Bela? We do that every night already,"

"Well now we have a reason to do it," she replied cheerfully. "And we'll invite more people,"

Gold eyes now dancing with eagerness, she held up one hand and began counting off names on her fingers. Tristan watched her with amusement, listening with half an ear as she rattled off. It was only as they strolled into Hightown that he realised with a jolt that she had said '_we're _leaving' instead of 'you'. He glanced across at her, hope blossoming in his chest. It seemed that whether Isabela consciously knew it or not, she had already decided to come with him.

"Tristan!" Aveline's voice rang out sharply across the square, distracting him from his thoughts. Tristan lifted his head, catching sight of the red-head amidst the smattering of noblemen milling about. His blue eyes narrowed, scanning the Guard Captain's face as she strode towards them. Her expression was grim but determined.

_Great, _he silently groaned. _Bad news, _

"Yes?" he sighed, once she had drawn near enough that shouting was no longer necessary. "Is there something that you wanted, or do you just like screaming my name?"

Aveline flushed slightly at the innuendo, shooting a murderous glance across at a smirking Isabela. "_That_ is why people shouldn't spend too much time in your company, whore. They start to sound like you," she snapped at her.

"I'm serious Aveline," Tristan muttered. "I'm not in the mood for any more bad news. So before you start, think carefully about what you want to say to me,"

"The Viscount's son has decided to join the Qunari,"

"I'll send his father my condolences," he replied indifferently.

Aveline hissed softly in frustration. "Damn it Amell!" she stepped closer to him, green eyes blazing with annoyance. "Would you just come with me? I have to ask Hawke to sort this out and it'll be easier if you're with me. You're the only one she's really talked to since Leandra… you know…"

Tristan winced at his aunts name, grimacing. "Fine," he muttered quickly, turning towards the Hawke estate. "Let's just get this over with,"

…

Several large, bulging leather bags greeted them as they entered the estate. Abigail had started packing without him, it seemed. Tristan winced, his eyes flickering from the luggage on the floor to the red-haired woman standing beside him. Aveline cast one glance at the bags, her expression growing stony.

"Hawke!" she yelled, her voice echoing around the room.

Footsteps approached and his dark-haired cousin appeared at the balustrade above them.

"Aveline," she greeted her, her voice weary. "Whatever you're about to say…"

"You can't leave," Aveline said flatly, shaking her head.

"Aveline…" she sighed. "I was going to tell you. All of you. Tonight,"

"Tell me what?" Aveline replied sharply. "That you're running away? That you're giving up? You can't leave Hawke! People need you here!"

The dark haired mage moved towards the staircase, slowly descending the steps. "I'm not running away Aveline," she stated, her voice calm. "I'm getting some distance, taking some space. It's not like I'm never returning to Kirkwall,"

"Tristan," Aveline turned towards him. "Tell me you haven't agreed to this?"

"I have to leave Kirkwall. I've stayed here for far too long as it is," Tristan replied. "And if Abby wants to come along with me, then I have no problem with it. She's my family. I'll look after her,"

"_We're _her family too!" Aveline returned hotly. "Taking her away from everything familiar isn't going to help anything!"

"So what do you propose I do?" Abby asked, her quiet voice a sharp contrast to Aveline's loud one. "What do you think will help? I've lost four family members now. I've tried every method of grieving. Nothing ever _helps,_" she spat, her voice growing icier with every word."So forgive me if the only thing I have left to do is try and hang onto the last real family I have left,"

Aveline's shoulder's slumped in defeat, the anger ebbing away from her features, leaving only resignation. Abby gave her a small smile.

"Just think of it as a holiday," she said gently. "I'll be back before you know it,"

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you," the guard captain admitted unhappily.

"You'll be fine," Abby reassured her. "You're a great Captain. You don't need me,"

"Well," Tristan interjected, "Today she does. The Viscount's son has gone and joined up with the Qunari,"

Abigail's eyes widened. "You have got to be _kidding _me! What in the Maker's name would have made him do something like that? Doesn't that little brat realise how tense things are right now?"

Tristan shrugged. "Maybe you should go and tell him,"

Abby rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I'll sort it out. Isabela? Want to tag along?"

"You and Aveline go," Isabela replied quickly. "Tristan and I can stay and help finish packing for you,"

"Bohdan's busy upstairs," Abby said, gesturing towards her room. "You can help by watching Sandal though. The last thing I need is him getting bored and pulling down the chandelier again,"

"We'll take care of him," Tristan reassured her. She nodded gratefully at him.

"I'll be back soon," she sighed, heading towards the door. Aveline followed her out. The door slammed shut, the sound resonating through the quiet house.

"So…" Isabela glanced around suspiciously. "We don't really have to look after the kid, do we? I mean… he's going to have to learn to fend for himself… What's going to happen to them when Hawke leaves anyway?"

"Bohdan and Sandal are going to look after the mansion for Hawke while she's gone," Tristan replied, leaning lazily against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "And no, we don't really have to look after Sandal. He's busy enchanting something – I can sense it from here. That should keep him busy for a while now,"

"Good," Isabela visibly relaxed. She jerked her head towards the library. "Come on. We can play a round of Wicked Grace while we wait for them to come back,"

_A/N: Yes, I know. It's a filler really. But trust me, I'm desperately trying to wrap up the Kirkwall section of this story. Never expected it to last this long. Lol. If all goes according to plan there should only be three more chapters in Kirkwall before we move on to the actual story… (What I am now dubbing as Part 2). Thanks for your patience guys _


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